Possession
by Spamberguesa
Summary: Thranduil might have lost Legolas, but he will not lose Tauriel. No matter what he has to do to keep her.
1. Possession

My contribution to Terrifying Tolkien Week. Needless to say, this is not a happy or fluffy fic.

* * *

Banishment, Tauriel reflected, would have been better.

She'd been so mazed with grief after Kili's death that she hadn't questioned the King's insistence that she return to the halls. Some part of her had half hoped he would execute her, though she knew he would not; Eldar did not kill one another. He would no more have stabbed her than she would have shot him.

Imprisonment was always a possibility, but she would not have minded the dungeons – she had, after all, spoken there with Kili, and could Fade in peace.

Imprisonment she received, but not in the dungeons, and not in any manner of way she had ever thought of.

She'd spent the last weeks locked in the King's rooms, given full run of them without being allowed so much as a step beyond the door. At first she'd been entirely bewildered when, battered, bloody, and bruised, the King had led her to his own bathroom, ordering a bath drawn and fresh clothes brought before leaving her to it. She'd sat in the steaming water, fragrant with lavender, and cried until there were no tears left in her. It had taken every ounce of effort she had to wash her hair, and she did not bother combing it before struggling into her clean clothes – soft trousers and softer tunic, brought from her own rooms.

When she emerged from the bathroom, the King steered her to the chair by his dressing-table, and patiently combed out her hair as he had when she was very small, and had no mother to do it for her. His hands were as gentle now as they were then, and she wondered why – why any of this. It was a question she was too tired to ask, though in hindsight, she should have. Perhaps, if she'd known, she would have been able to escape.

He'd put her to bed in his own bed, but sat up late himself; her last sight, before exhaustion claimed her, was of him pouring a very large glass of wine.

When she woke, he was still there, seated before the fireplace, which now held only glowing coals.

Her head was slightly clearer now, for all she wished it was not, but she had no idea what to say. For whatever odd reason of his own, Thranduil detested words of gratitude. "My lord," she said instead, shocked at the hoarseness of her voice, "what would you have me do now?"

He looked at her, and even in the dimness, the expression in his eyes struck her as odd. "Stay, Tauriel," he said. "My son has gone. I will not lose you, too."

She hadn't realized then how incredibly literally he meant it.

The next two days she had slept, woken only when gnawing hunger forced her to. Her fëa didn't want to eat, but her hröa was of an entirely different opinion, and when she spied a platter of fruit and bread on the nightstand, she dutifully sated her stomach's demands, though she tasted none of it.

What time it was, she had no idea; she was alone in the room, and when she forced herself to rise and inspect the rest of the King's chambers, she found him nowhere. It felt wrong to be in here without him, no matter that he had invited her; it was probably best to leave, though where she would go, she knew not. She got the first of many nasty shocks when she tried the door, and found it locked.

From the outside.

Why in Eru's name would the King lock her in his chambers? Surely, if he wanted to imprison her, the dungeons would have been a better option. What made him think he could trust her not to do something horrible to his chambers, upon finding she couldn't leave? She wouldn't, of course, but how was he to know that?

Perhaps he merely did not want her wandering off so soon after her loss, lest her grief carry her to some manner of harm. Still, it was odd.

As she had nothing better to do, she broke into his supply of wine – if he intended to keep her here, he could hardly object. Two cups in and she decided that picking the lock was a fantastic idea, though she still didn't know where she would go once she was free. It was merely the idea of being trapped that she disliked.

The alcohol impaired her dexterity greatly, and it didn't help that all she had to work with was a letter-opener. All she'd managed to do was scratch both lock and door by the time he returned, and the glare he bent on her was so fierce that she scrambled away.

"What," he asked softly, "do you think you are doing?" He'd always towered over her, but now, from her position on the floor, he seemed a giant, a cold statue of marble that lived.

"The door was locked, my lord," she said inanely, alcohol rendering any more intelligent observations impossible.

"Yes," he said shortly, "it was." He reached down and took her arm, hauling her to her feet with a strength that was honestly a little terrifying. "I told you that you would not leave me, Tauriel," he added, not relinquishing his grip.

"I was not going to, my lord," she hastened to assure him. That strange, unsettling look in his pale eyes was back, more noticeable in proper light: unstable, and more than a little possessive. It sent her stomach lurching, and not in a pleasant way. "I simply wanted to go for a walk."

"No," he said, finally releasing her. "Not yet. You are not well."

That was true enough, but still. Protesting was probably not a good idea right now – that look in his eyes spooked her, made her even more wary than she otherwise might have been. "Very well, my lord," she said carefully. "But I am awake now, and I must do _something_." She would try her escape again tomorrow, just to prove to herself that she could.

Suspicion lurked in his gaze, but he said nothing of it. "Pick a book," he said, "and read to me. This day has been long, and I can think no more on it."

She chose a tale of the history of Gondolin, sitting in the chair opposite while she read, though she soon wished she hadn't. Tales of the First Age were rarely comforting; whatever miseries her life had brought her, she was glad she had not been alive _then_.

"Were it not for Maeglin, the city might yet stand," she grumbled. "Aredhel should never have married Ëol. Why did she not simply leave him?"

"Because he would not let her escape." When Tauriel looked up over the edge of the book, the King's expression chilled her. "He could not bear to be parted from her."

"He did not know her," she protested. "He was like an Edain, marrying for desire rather than love."

"There is more than one kind of love, Tauriel," the King said, and that look, that quasi-mad, possessive gleam had returned to his eyes. "You are too young yet to know the difference, but you will learn."

It didn't sound like a promise. It sounded like a threat.

"Your hair needs combing. Come." He rose, and waved a ringed hand for her to follow. Follow she did, carefully setting aside the book, unease roiling in her gut. Where it came from, she didn't know, but there was no gainsaying it. She sat when bidden, and stayed very still while the King drew the comb through her hair. The alcohol made her head spin.

Never before had his touch unsettled her – not that she had known it in a very long time. There was nothing actually improper in it now, but it lingered perhaps longer than was appropriate, his fingers brushing over her scalp and along the back of her neck. It made her shiver, but that too was far from pleasant – there was an unnerving sense of hunger in his touches that would have been less disturbing if they had been simply carnal. Tauriel was uncomfortably aware of just how large his hands were, how easily he could snap her neck with just one if he chose, or crush her windpipe with those long white fingers.

"You are nervous, Tauriel," he said, his breath a hot ghost on the crown of her head.

"Only confused, my lord," she said, somehow keeping her voice level. "You have no reason to do all of this for me."

"I told you, Tauriel," he said, irritation lacing his tone, "you are all I have left, and I will not lose you. No harm can come to you while you are within my chambers, so here you will stay."

Oh, she was dearly tempted to argue, but again, she did not dare. She did not trust this alien facet of her King. Not when his eyes were at once so warm and so cold. "For how long, my lord?"

"For however long I say." He turned her chair, inspecting her with a level of scrutiny she did not at all like. Up close, she realized how exhausted he had to be; his pale face was pinched and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. No wonder he seemed so…off. He took her chin in his right hand, tilting her face up. "You are weary, Tauriel. You must sleep."

"So must you," she said, though in truth, thought of sharing a bed with him terrified her. Not because she thought he would harm her – she was quite certain he would not – but because his proximity itself disturbed her. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but he seemed to radiate more heat than an Elf ought to, as though he ran a terrible fever.

Now he was the one who looked like he wanted to argue, but surprisingly, he did not. "Perhaps you are right. You have night-clothes in the wardrobe – I will join you shortly."

She did? Since when? Much must have happened during her two-day nap. She wondered what in Eru's name everyone else who actually knew about this was making of it. Perhaps she could get news from whatever guards might turn up while the King was away.

Her sleepwear, like her day-clothes, was sturdy and functional, a gown of soft white linen. Changing into it took no time at all, and she hurried underneath the blankets before the King could return, turning her face away from the door and shutting her eyes. Sooner or later he would snap out of this strange madness, and she would rather they both have no more to be embarrassed about than they already had.

Sleep eluded her, however, even as she hear him cross the floor, and felt him climb into bed as well. Thankfully it was far larger than two or even four people would need; each had more than enough space. They need not wind up on top of one another, even if they both turned out to flail in their sleep.

Or so she thought, anyway. Tauriel's eyes flew open when his arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her back against the heat of his chest, chin rested on top of her head. The scent of him was all but overpowering, rich and spicy, and it utterly terrified her. "M-my lord?" she said, hoping he couldn't feel the panicked thundering of her heart. It fluttered in her stomach like a trapped rat, freezing her.

"Hush, Tauriel," he said, the words a warm breath against her hair. "You are safe."

 _Am I?_ she wondered, even as his hand found hers and twined her fingers among his. What was he _doing_? There remained nothing carnal in his desire, but desire there was, and all the more frightening because she could put no name to it. It would have been far easier if it were merely her body he had been after – this was something darker, something close to all-encompassing. Something he no doubt thought was pure, and perhaps, to him, it was. Whatever he wanted or needed from her was not nearly so simple as physical desire.

Wary though she was, eventually sleep claimed her, and she wished it hadn't; she dreamt again of the battle, of watching Kili's fëa darken before her eyes, fleeing to the Halls of Aulë to join his forebears. She watched the light leave his merry eyes, helpless to do anything, while the tears froze on her cheeks and her heart shattered. Never before had she considered that heartbreak could be a physically painful thing, but to her it was, as though someone had reached into her chest and _squeezed_ until something splintered apart. Something precious and fragile that she would never regain, in this life or the next.

She woke with a face wet with tears, though this time they were hot rather than cold, her cheek pressed against the King's bare chest. She tried to recoil, but his arms were wrapped around her like iron bands, holding her in place.

"Weep, Tauriel," he said, stroking her jaw with his thumb. "Weep, and remember, and move on."

Move on? _Move on?_ Move on to _what_ , she wanted to ask, but her voice was nowhere to be found. The King was the one who needed to move on, to find a way out of whatever mad sickness had befallen him. The healers needed to see to him, if she could but tell someone about this.

Wrong or not, unsettling or not, he was there, warm and alive, and she let herself cry, because it was the only way she could think of to drain some of the poison inside her. Her tears left a layer of salt against his skin, but he did not seem to mind – indeed, the only reason she knew he wasn't asleep again was because he still stroked her jaw. Maybe…maybe this wasn't so bad. Yes, it was unnerving, and entirely unlike Thranduil, but there was an odd comfort to be found as well.

* * *

When she woke again, it was because the King's arms were wrapped so tightly around her that she was having difficulty breathing. His body was so like a furnace that she'd been sweating in her sleep – she needed a bath, but she feared to take one until he left for the day.

She tried to squirm out of his grasp without waking him, but his grip only tightened, and she swore she heard her ribs creak. "My lord, you're hurting me."

He blinked awake, and his hold loosened at once. "Where are you going?" he asked, suspicion lurking in his eyes.

"The bathroom, my lord," she said. Eru, was she going to have to justify her every move even within his chambers?

The suspicion eased, but did not abate entirely, and dread curdled in her stomach. What had happened to him? Surely losing his son could not be the sole cause – Legolas was abroad, not dead.

She had to try to get a message to him. If anyone could cure this strange madness, it would be him.

"Do not linger," the King said, eyes narrowing.

"I need a bath, my lord," she protested. "You are very warm – I've been sweating my sleep. Even my clothes are damp."

"If you need a bath, I will give you one," he said.

Tauriel froze. The thought was more horrifying than anything else had yet been. "There is no need for that, my lord," she said, her voice unsteady. "You know that I will not go anywhere." _Cannot go anywhere_.

"I disagree. Stay here and I will fill the tub." He rose before she could protest, leaving her still frozen.

It should not be such a terrifying idea. Eldar had no real nudity taboo, and communal baths were common; unlike Edain, Elves were not tempted by simple exposed flesh. But the thought of being even more vulnerable to the King than she already was… She wished she hadn't said anything. She knew that if she did not obey, he would strip her himself, and see nothing wrong with it – again viewing his motives as completely pure.

There would be no escape, she realized dully. Even if she managed to leave his chambers, she could never leave the halls; sooner or later he would hunt her down, and she didn't want to contemplate what he might do to her. Right now he was kind in his possessiveness, but she had an unfortunate feeling that could all too easily change.

And even if she did, by some miracle, make it out of the halls – out of the kingdom – what had she to live for? Kili was gone, and the position that had formed the basis of her identity was lost to her. Better to die by her own hand than endure the long, slow process of Fading. Elves could linger for decades in that state, and thought of lingering so long in the King's madness was not to be borne.

As if her thought had summoned him, he appeared in the doorway. Never before had she seen his hair so disheveled, and it only added to his general air of unbalance. "Come, Tauriel."

Go she did, unable to halt her shivering, which of course he noticed.

"Why do you tremble?" he asked, inspecting her far more closely than she was comfortable with.

"I am cold, my lord," she said, and it was true enough; lacking his heat beside her, her skin was chill and clammy, her nightdress unpleasantly sticky with sweat. She could not look at him while she stripped it off, and climbed into the bath as quick as she could. The tub was recessed into the floor, and like everything else in his chambers, it was stupidly oversized, with benches to sit upon so that one did not drown trying to sit on the bottom.

The hot water did feel good, and eased a little of her tension. Her hair floated in a cloud around her, and that too was a comfort, for it made the rest of her less visible. Tauriel shut her eyes, and tried to pretend, if only for a few moments, that she was alone.

They flew open again when the water was disturbed – oh Eru, did he truly mean to get _in_ with her? He _did._

She froze again, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Her skin crawled, the heat of the water unable to fight the goosebumps that broke out all over her. She dared not protest, nor ask just what he thought he was doing. Her eyes closed again, for all the good it did her.

"Lean forward," the King said, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls.

She did, with great trepidation, and jumped a little when he pushed her hair out of the way. There came a small splash, and then she felt a washcloth on her back, rubbing in soothing circles. That, perhaps, was the worst of this: he was genuinely trying to be comforting, and just as genuinely thought he was succeeding. She could not let him know that he was accomplishing quite the opposite.

He said nothing, and neither did she, even as he soaped the cloth again and ran it down her right arm, washing away every trace of stale sweat. Tauriel's arms did not lack for muscle, but his fingers still circled them fully, and she was reminded again of how easily he could kill her.

 _Would that be such a bad thing?_ she wondered. Would she truly _mind_ if he drowned her in this tub?

Actually, yes. She was determined to die by her own hand. She did not want to go to Mandos murdered by her own King, no matter how mad he might be. Even now, she would not have him be a Kinslayer. Legolas would never forgive him, nor would he forgive himself, once this strange malady lifted. At least he could rationalize her suicide as unendurable grief for Kili. And he would not be wholly wrong.

Yes, she though, as he moved to her other arm, once he had left for the day, she would take that letter-opener and open her veins. It was still razor-sharp in spite of its failed use as a lockpick. She need not endure this strange compound pain for much longer.

"Lean back," he said, and when she did, she flinched a little when her back hit the hard plane of his chest. Her eyes remained closed, for she knew that if she opened them, she would go as mad as the King.

She was relieved – though no longer surprised – that there was still no carnal desire in his touch, not even when he washed her breasts. Thank Eru for that, at least. Even so, it was all she could do to remain still, especially when his left arm wrapped around her waist. What did he _want_ from her? He might not desire her in any sense she understood, but he seemed to crave contact. She simply couldn't understand – but then, she doubted he did, either.

Tauriel didn't realize she was crying until the King's fingers traced the line of her tears. "It is all right, Tauriel," he said. "I will not leave you."

 _That_ , she thought, _is the problem._

When at last he'd finished, he dried her off and bundled her into one of his own dressing-gowns. It smelled like him, rich and spicy, but at least it more than covered her. Again he sat her at his dressing-table and patiently combed out her hair. When he was through, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and went off to dress himself for the day.

"I will have breakfast sent for you," he said, when he returned. He looked now like his usual resplendent self, clad in robes of black and silver brocade. It was strangely comforting, seeing him as he ought to be.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, somehow finding her voice.

When he left, she heard the door lock behind him.

After a moment, Tauriel rose, and went to don her own clothing, rolling back the sleeves as far as they would go.

The letter-opener had been returned to its place on his desk, and she took it in her trembling hand. The tip was so sharp that it drew a small bead of blood as soon as she pressed it to her wrist, shockingly bright against her pale skin.

With deep, calming breath she stabbed down, hard, and drew the wicked blade the entire length of her forearm. The pain was not nearly so bad as she had expected – nor was it when she opened the veins of her other arm. The hot, coppery scent of blood assailed her nose, and she felt as though the heat of it scalded her unbroken skin.

It was not long at all before her vision clouded, and then there was only blessed darkness that contained no pain.

* * *

Tauriel had not known what to expect of the Halls of Mandos, but this was not it.

The pain had not followed her here, at least. She was lying on a very soft bed – but there were bandages around her arms. Surely she would not need them after death.

It took her a moment to realize that the room smelled familiar – like Thranduil. The realization snapped her eyes open with sudden, mounting horror.

She'd failed. She was still alive. Still trapped.

"It is about time you woke."

She looked to her right and found the King seated by her beside, severity and sympathy warring with the possessiveness in his pale eyes. She had no idea at all what to say, so she said nothing.

"I told you I would not leave you, Tauriel," he said, brushing the hair from her brow.

She tried to sit up, and for the first time registered that there was something wrapped around her ankle. A chain clinked when she shifted again, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the other end was attached to his.

"And you will never leave me."

Quite suddenly, Tauriel understood Aredhel.

* * *

The story of Ëol and Aredhel is one of the creepiest things Tolkien ever wrote. Ëol was an Elf in the First Age who saw Aredhel riding through his forest and thought she was hot, and so deliberately got her lost and led her to his house. She didn't at first realize she was actually a captive, and eventually they got married. What makes it so creepy? This line: "Aredhel was not wholly unwilling." Yeah. They seem to have been happy for a while, because Stockholm Syndrome will do that to a person, but of course it ended in murder.

Will Thranduil's motives remain as weirdly pure as they are now, or will he eventually turn into Ëol 2.0? I leave that to your imagination. By then, Tauriel might not be _wholly_ unwilling either.


	2. Obsession

Legolas first noticed the change in his father not long after Tauriel reached her majority.

 _She_ didn't, so caught up was she in her training to join the forest guard. And, although she had been adept at reading the forest for as long as he had known her, she was not very good at all at reading people – not that she had cared to learn. Ever was she happiest out under the open sky, sun on her face and wind in her hair. It was only natural that she would not have noticed the subtle shift in the way the King regarded her.

And it _was_ subtle. Legolas only spotted it because he was accustomed to watching his father during feasts, paying close attention to how he dealt with this councilor or that noble. And so it was easy to see just how often his eyes wandered to Tauriel, who was near bursting with pride at her first occasion to wear her green guard uniform. In the past, she and Legolas had snuck wine and danced until the small hours of the morning, but now she was stone sober, gaze flicking to and fro, assessing any potential trouble. No matter how hard she tried to remain stoic – and it was a visible effort – she beamed every time someone congratulated her on her acceptance into the ranks.

Perhaps it might have been understandable for the King to look on her with pride, but it was not pride in his pale eyes. Legolas could put no name to it, but it unsettled him. He hoped it was merely thanks to the truly heroic amount of wine his father had imbibed.

* * *

It was not the wine, and soon, Legolas was not the only one who noticed.

Unsurprisingly, Tauriel herself remained oblivious. When she was not working, she was training, sparring herself breathless with any who would partner her – and growing ever better at it. Somehow, it only made his father's regard for her all the more unnerving; the two rarely interacted. Whatever this was, it was not bred by familiarity. And that was probably what saved her from unkind speculation by the more suspicious nobles. Many had tried in vain to catch the King's eye, but Tauriel had not tried at all.

He was perched in a tree one sunny day, patiently waiting for game of any sort to come his way, when two noble ladies passed below him, clearly not knowing of his presence. One of them, Lady Silwen, was not known for her charity of thought, so what she said surprised him.

"I do not think Tauriel is even aware of it," she said, shaking her golden head. "Which is perhaps for the best. The poor girl would have no idea what to do. She is one of the few who has never sought the King's attention.

"She is young," Lady Ríniel said, "and so distracted by her new position that I doubt she would notice if the sky fell."

Legolas held his breath. He had wondered if he was the only one who realized how his father looked at Tauriel, or if he was simply going mad.

"It will pass," Lady Silwen said. "I hope. And I _truly_ hope no one ever tells her of it. We cannot be the only ones who have noticed."

"Do you think _he_ realizes it?"

"I hope not," Lady Ríniel said soberly. "If this is conscious on his part…well. He is a noble ellon. Whatever it is he thinks or feels, he will not act upon it."

She was right, Legolas thought, releasing a slow breath once they had passed. Whatever disturbing regard his father might have for Tauriel, he would keep it to himself. Nevertheless, it _was_ disturbing, for it had only grown with time. Really, it was no wonder those two had noticed; on the rare occasions he was in the same room as Tauriel, his eyes followed her everywhere, averting only when she looked at him.

Perhaps it was best to start sending her out on longer scouting missions. Eru knew she had earned it; her proficiency with her knives was outmatched by very few, and her skill with a bow by even fewer. His request to the captain would not look at all odd, and Tauriel would be delighted. He trusted his father, but it still might be best if she were away for a while.

He approached Faelon late that night, patrolling a gurgling stretch of the enchanted river. The light of the full moon turned it into a glittering path, the branches lacing it with shadows. In the dark, it was easier to pretend the forest was whole, free of the disease that had marred it for centuries.

"Of course, my lord," the captain said. "It might be wise."

Something in his tone made Legolas look at him. The moonlight was bright enough to betray the understanding in his grey eyes.

"I will send her out as often as I can. The experience will be good for her."

"Yes," Legolas said, "it will." And perhaps, with her no longer around, his father would come to his senses.

For if he did not, and Tauriel worked it out on her own, she might well run away, duty or no duty. If she felt unsafe in her own home, she would not stay.

* * *

And it worked – for a while. When Tauriel was away, the King's eyes cleared, and Legolas's heart eased. And as he'd expected, Tauriel was enjoying herself immensely, hunting spiders and killing whatever stray orcs wandered over their borders.

But always, always when they returned, his father would ask to see them all, and his gaze would follow her as before. Mercifully, she still did not seem to notice, and Legolas thanked Eru for her blindness, even as he wondered at it. Eventually it occurred to him that she might not see it because she did not _want_ to. If she was forced to acknowledge it, she would be forced to do something about it, and what _could_ she do? She could hardly confront his father about it, and it would make their interaction agonizingly awkward.

Things stayed thus for the next two hundred years, and Legolas dared start to hope they would remain that way, and that his father's strange obsession had grown no more. He was very, very unhappy to discover it was quite otherwise.

He'd gone to his father's study to hunt for the latest reports from the captains – something he'd done hundreds of times before. As usual, the desk, carved from the round of a great tree-trunk, was cluttered with maps and parchment and empty wine-glasses, and he had to light a spare lamp to sift through it all.

This time, though, there was a leather folder he had never seen before, and it did not occur to him not to open it. He'd always had the run of the contents of his father's paperwork, but what he found made him curse his curiosity.

It was stuffed with drawings, both pencil and charcoal – hundreds of them. And every single one was of Tauriel.

Ice washed through his veins. Some were portraits like any that might be found in the hall, but others – one was of her standing guard at the river gate, staring into the distance. His father must have been _stalking_ her to gain the image for that one.

And it got worse.

Halfway through the stack he found one that stopped the breath in his chest. In it she was sleeping, her hair spread across the pillow – disturbing enough in its own right, but on her right cheek was a scratch she had obtained on her last mission.

He hoped, oh, how he hoped, that his father had not broken into her room and drawn her while she slept, but he had a sinking feeling his hope was a vain one. For the first time, he feared that his father might compromise his honor if this went on much longer.

* * *

And then came the day Legolas dreaded: Tauriel was promoted to captain. She would be reporting directly to his father. Alone.

Oh, she'd earned the position – there was no disputing that. He wished she was not such a fine warrior, that she did not have the full support of the guards. Were they mad? They had all seen what he saw. They were sending her into the lair of a dragon she did not know existed.

His relief was indescribable when nothing came of it – and he would have known of it if something had. Tauriel was an open book, and they spent much time together. He knew that his father thought he was infatuated with her, but in truth, he feared leaving her alone.

So, it seemed, did many others. She never lacked for companionship while at home; fortunately, she was a social creature and seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes, it seemed as though the entire kingdom had silently agreed to watch over her – for it wasn't just the guards. At feasts, noble lords and ladies kept a buffer between her and the King, forming a large, impenetrable knot wherever she went.

It worked. For now.

* * *

Legolas knew the exact day Tauriel worked it out, consciously or unconsciously. It was the day she left, following those wretched Dwarves.

And yet, perhaps it was for the best. The obsession in his father's eyes had of late turned into outright hunger, and Legolas feared it was only a matter of time before he gave in to it. How far would he go? Tauriel was not the sort to be seduced. She would be horrified and refuse him – but would he respect that refusal? Or was his madness even darker than Legolas feared?

Mercifully, it seemed they need not find out. If she wanted to throw her entire life away for a Dwarf…well, worse things could happen.

Much worse.

* * *

Yes, Legolas, they could. And will. Poor Tauriel.


	3. Opression

Never had Tauriel known such hell.

The chain had not merely been for show. The King left it on even when he was with her, and when he was absent, he fixed it to the bedpost. She was only ever free of it when she slept, and only then because he always lay with her, whether he needed sleep or not, arms wrapped around her like a different sort of shackle.

The chain was long, at least, and allowed her to move freely enough, but it was a chain nonetheless. Finally she asked him when it would be removed.

"It is for your protection, Tauriel," he said. They lay together in the dark, his arm slung around her waist, holding her close against him. She was suffocating, drowning in the heat and heady scent of him. The wounds on her arms itched, and she wished so very much that her attempt to take her own life had succeeded. Eru knew when she'd get another.

Time to try a different tactic. "What need have I for more protection, my lord, when you are with me?" She knew she should not actually argue, that she could never let him know how much he horrified her.

In answer, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "You accept that I only want what is best for you?"

She shut her eyes. "Yes, my lord," she sighed. "And you know I will never leave you." _Not yet._

Damn Legolas to the Void for leaving. If he had not going haring off into the wilderness without her, this would not be happening. She _had_ to get a message to him, but first, she had to get the King to trust her enough to allow her to see other people. And that meant playing along with his madness.

"Thranduil," he said, his arm tightening around her. "Call me by my name."

"Yes, Thranduil." It sounded so alien, so _wrong_.

"We must wash your hair tomorrow."

Tauriel couldn't contain her shudder. She'd been avoiding baths, because he refused to let her take one alone. He would wash her hair and massage her shoulders, carefully keeping her bandaged arms out of the water, doing all he could to relax her.

Eru, what did he _want_ from her? Never once had his touches been carnal, yet they were constant, as though he craved her like a drug. She feared the day his desire should grow beyond simple contact.

Did anyone else know she was even here? Surely a healer must have tended her wounds. Was there no one who would help her?

She already knew the answer to that. No one, no matter how sorry they felt for her, would dare risk the King's wrath to free her. Her only hope was Legolas. Legolas, who she was going to kill for abandoning her.

Sleep was long in coming, but eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Somehow, she would endure tomorrow.

* * *

Tauriel woke to the sound of the tub being filled, and shut her mouth on a frustrated scream. She had hoped the King would give her a little time this morning, before subjecting her to the bath.

 _Endure, Tauriel_ , she ordered herself. _Lie, and endure._

She forced herself to sit up, and not to scratch her bandages. As ever, she had no idea what time it actually was, but it was not as though it mattered. Nothing did, anymore.

"Come, Tauriel. The water is almost ready."

How had he known she was awake? From the bathroom, he could not see her. "Yes, m- Thranduil," she said, hating herself for obeying the command. Better to obey than risk whatever consequences refusal might bring. He had to trust that she would do as she was told, if she ever wanted to get out of these rooms.

She winced when she rose, dull throbbing pain joining the itching of her arms. Once again her nightdress was damp with sweat from having slept pressed against the King's unnatural heat, but she would rather leave it than suffer through another forced bath.

And yet, the truly terrifying thing was that he did not see anything he did as force – not even the chain. He genuinely believed his own words.

She made herself put one bare foot in front of the other, the stone floor chilly beneath them. She felt as though she were walking to her own execution.

The bathroom was bright with lantern-light, the air thick and heavy with steam. As always, the King had laid out soft towels and a dressing-gown for each of them – and, as always, he waited for her to go in first.

Stripping her clothes off in front of him hadn't grown any easier with repetition, but at least it was a comfort to know he wasn't leering at her. She stepped into the water without looking at him, hiding her face behind the red curtain of her hair.

She shut her eyes when the King stepped in behind her, and immediately drew her hair away from her back, fingers rubbing deep circles along her shoulders.

"You are unhappy, Tauriel," he said, running his thumbs along her spine. She hated how good it felt. "Why?"

"I grieve, my lor – Thranduil." It was very true, too; trapped so often in his presence, she had not had the opportunity to properly mourn Kili.

"Of course you do," he said, sounding irritated with himself. "Goheno nin, Tauriel. That was ill-thought."

How strange it was, that he could apologize for a remark yet keep her chained to his bed. Even in his madness he was ever unpredictable.

"M – Thranduil," she said, hating too how small her voice was, "will you take me outside? I do not know how long it has been since last I saw the sun."

She yelped when he pulled her back against his chest, tilting her chin up so he could look at her. "Why would I do that, Tauriel?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. His eyes were suddenly very cold, his face like a statue of pale marble.

She swallowed hard, trying to stop the flutter of panic in her chest. "Because I ask it of you," she said. "Because you will never trust me if you do not give me the opportunity to prove that you can."

Thank Eru, his expression softened at that. She never knew, from hour to hour, how much of what she said actually got through to him. "Of course," he said, and she tried not to flinch when his left hand drifted down her arm. As ever, there was no desire in the touch – only a strange, nameless _need_ that even now she could not define.

Small though her twitch was, of course he noticed it. "You fear me, Tauriel," he said, and now there was sorrow in his voice. "Why?"

That was a question she simply could not answer with a lie. "Yes," she said, shutting her eyes, "I do. You are…not as I have always known you to be, and I do not understand. And that frightens me."

"Oh, Tauriel." He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tighter against him. "Do not fear me. You know I would never harm you."

She knew she ought to agree with him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. "I do not know you when you are like this, Thranduil," she said, eyes still closed as her head rested back against his shoulder. "I do not really know you at all, though I have served you for centuries."

"We have all the time in the world to remedy that," he said, kissing her temple. "You are not like others, Tauriel. You have never wanted anything from me."

 _I want nothing from you_ now, she thought, fighting the despair that tried to rise within her. "I want nothing from anyone," she said.

"I wish you would want from me."

Her eyes snapped open. Oh, Eru, let that not mean what it sounded like.

She tried to turn in his arms, needing to look at him, though she had no desire to. After a moment he let her, and she regarded him another moment in silence. So many would envy her position, sitting in a warm bath with her coldly beautiful King, and she would happily trade places with any of them.

There was nothing cold about him now, however. Not until her imprisonment had she seen his expression so open, and she wished it could be under any other circumstances. "My question, Thranduil," she said, unable to keep the trepidation from her tone, "is what do you want from me?" Eru, don't let it be what she would never give. "If it is my companionship, you need not keep me chained. I have nowhere to go, and no one but you." _That_ was more than true enough.

His pale eyes watched her intently. "I want only what you are willing to give me."

It was not the answer she feared, but it was still unsettling enough for her to turn away. "I have given you all I can."

"Then it is all I will ever ask," he said, wrapping his arms around her again.

She wished she could believe it.

* * *

Tauriel was honestly surprised when he made good on his word, and let her out into his private garden. Without the chain.

The feel of the sun on her face was glorious, better than anything she had ever known, and she tilted her head back to bask in it – it was the chilly sunlight of early spring, which told her just how long she'd actually been captive. For the first time since the Battle of Five Armies, she felt like she knew who she was. She doubted she would ever convince Thranduil to let her back into the Guard even if his sanity _did_ restore itself, but just to breathe fresh air, to feel the wind around her, was enough for now. The tension that had been mounting in her since she woke in his room so months ago eased, and she no longer felt like her own sanity might snap at any moment.

"Thank you, my lord," she breathed.

"Thranduil," he chided, taking her hand.

"Thank you, Thranduil. I would have sickened and died without the sun."

His grip tightened, and she wondered if he thought she meant it literally. Perhaps she did.

She hazarded a look at him, and found his expression quite stricken. "I am a creature of the forest, Thranduil," she said. "I cannot be deprived of it for long."

To her shock, he gathered her close, his embrace a bit too tight for comfort, and rested his cheek on her hair. "Goheno nin, Tauriel," he said. "I did not think."

 _You have not truly_ thought _since you imprisoned me_ , she thought sourly, but surely this was progress of some sort. _What_ sort, she did not know, but at least he seemed to be considering her as something other than as extension of himself. She only prayed it would last. "You are thinking now," she said, and made herself return the embrace. How ironic, that he'd spent so much effort trying to soothe her, but _she_ had to soothe _him_ if she ever wanted anything approximating freedom again.

* * *

Morwen was deeply troubled, as was everyone else she knew.

Word of Tauriel's imprisonment had rapidly spread, and no one was surprised. What was surprising – and disturbing – was that she had, for whatever reason, been desperate enough to try to take her own life.

It had been no halfhearted attempt, either. Morwen had treated the deep, ragged gashes on her arms, and honestly wondered how she had survived long enough to _be_ treated.

More unnerving still had been the King's reaction. He had not seemed to be able to stop touching her, stroking her hair and her brow, whispering words of desperate, unstable comfort, the possessiveness that had lingered in his eyes for so long turned to outright madness. He genuinely fancied himself in love with her, and there was no way that could end in anything but disaster.

Someone had to get a message to the Prince, but none knew where he had gone. It was only a matter of time before Tauriel would again try to kill herself, and if she succeeded, the King truly _would_ lose his mind. And Eru knew what he'd do then.

* * *

Her walk in the garden aided Tauriel immensely, but it only made returning to her prison all the more difficult.

It didn't help that the King literally would not leave her side – nor, even now, would he stop touching her. His hands skimmed her back, her shoulders, carded through her damp hair. She was not at all surprised when he guided her to his dressing-table to comb it, for he had done so every day.

She bowed her head while he did, looking at her arms. The bandages would need to be changed soon, and she did not want to – she didn't wish to see the signs of her failure. She would bear those scars until the end of her days – however many of those she had left. For sooner or later, despite his noble intentions, she was quite sure the King would try to take her by force, and that was fatal for an Elf.

He wouldn't see it as force. Doubtless he would think her resistance merely shyness, that her nerves would melt away under his touch. What he would do when he discovered otherwise, when he woke to find a corpse beside him…well, at least that wouldn't be _her_ problem. And she would be far from the only one to have gone to Mandos that way, so at least she would have company.

But that would not, she thought, be any time soon. For now, Thranduil truly believed in the purity of his regard for her, and as she had reminded him, she was still grieving. He was mad, but he was not cruel. And so long as she obeyed his commands, he would probably remain that way for a while.

Meanwhile, the feel of the comb through her hair was no longer unpleasant – if she could forget who was using it, it was actually rather calming. She'd grown so accustomed to the rich, nameless scent of him that she could sometimes ignore it – though she would swear that part of why he touched her so often was so that she would smell like him, marking her like an animal. The thought made her shudder.

"Are you could, Tauriel?" he asked, immediately setting aside the comb.

"A little, m- Thranduil," she said, not raising her head.

"You still hesitate over using my name," he said, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.

"I am simply unused to it," she said, forcing herself to look at him. "I have called you 'my lord' all my life. Remembering to call you by your name will take time." She only dared look at him when she spoke the truth, for mad or not, he would see a lie in her eyes. This, however, was quite true – it just wasn't the whole truth. Using his name felt _wrong_ , for it suggested an intimacy and familiarity she did not want.

"Well, get used to it." There was a brief flash of irritation in his eyes and his tone, the thing she'd come to dread.

"I will, Thranduil," she assured him, hating the faintness in her voice.

"Of course you will," he said, irritation vanishing as swiftly as it had come. "You always were adaptable, my Tauriel." His grip on her hand tightened fractionally, though not quite enough to hurt. "And you _are_ mine."

"I know, Thranduil," she said, shutting her eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his. "As I've said, I would never leave you."

"I would never let you," he said. "But come, sit beside the fire with me."

 _I will not be Aredhel_ , she thought, following dutifully, and made no protest when Thranduil sat on the divan and pulled her onto his lap, head rested against his shoulder. _I will not give in as she did_. She was _not_ Thranduil's, nor would she ever be – she could simply never let him know that. Tauriel had only ever belonged to herself, and she would not allow her captivity to change that, no matter how long her imprisonment.

Thranduil's fingers tangled in her hair, absently stroking it as though she were a cat. The heat of him warmed her even more than the fire.

"You are still very warm, Thranduil," she said, curling into a ball on his lap. "I worry that you have a fever." Could illness explain this? Could it truly be so simple?

"I have always been so," he said, wrapping his arms around her – too tightly, as usual. "Though I appreciate your concern."

 _That was the point_. She stared into the fire, which burned low in the grate, casting flickering shadows everywhere. It seemed so dark in here, after her reprieve in the sunshine. But if she could convince Thranduil to take her outside often, the sun would give her hope.

"Are you weary, Tauriel?" he asked, his thumb running up and down her shoulder.

"A little." And she was, though her fatigue was far more mental than physical. She had spent much time sleeping in these last months, for if she slept, she did not have to think. It was not wise – her body would weaken if she kept it up – but it was her only reprieve from her worries and fears.

"We will change your bandages, and then you must rest." He lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed and setting her down so very gently. She pushed back the sleeves of her borrowed dressing-gown, staring at her arms. The fabric of the garment was unlike any she had ever worn, rich and softer than silk, and she hated it. She was not made to wear such clothes – quite apart from how vulnerable it made her, wearing it and nothing else. The fact that Thranduil wouldn't take advantage of that – yet – did not change the fact that he _could._

Tauriel forced herself to look at her arms when he unwound the bandages, at the ugly scabs and scars of her failure. Surprisingly, Thranduil still hadn't asked her why she'd done it. Doubtless he had drawn his own conclusions, and felt no need to inquire.

He washed her left arm oh-so-carefully, the touch of his long fingers so delicate she could barely feel it. When he smeared the clear, bitter-scented salve over the wounds, she drew a sharp breath.

Thranduil froze. "Have I hurt you?"

"No," she said. "It merely stings."

The terrible thing was that the concern in his eyes was genuine. "You are certain?"

"Thranduil, if you ever hurt me, I would tell you," she assured him. And she had, several times, when he held her too tightly, his arms a different kind of chain.

"Do," he said, and she managed not to flinch when he stroked the side of her face, his fever-hot fingers leaving trails of warmth in their wake. "If I cause you pain, Tauriel, never keep silent."

How could he have such concern for her, yet not realize he was suffocating her by slow degrees? "I would always tell you, Thranduil," she forced herself to say. "Thus far, it has only been that I think you are sometimes unaware of your full strength."

"I will try to remember," he said, carefully wrapping a clean bandage around her arm. "But sometimes I fear that if I do not hold you, you will run from me."

As much as she would absolutely _love_ to, she knew she wouldn't get far. "You know I would not, Thranduil," she said, as she started on her other arm. "Someday you will believe me." Tauriel swallowed, forcing herself to add, "Someday you will trust me, as I trust you."

Thranduil kissed the inside of her wrist, carefully avoiding her scars, his lips a phantom brand against her skin. "And someday you will love me as I love you."

Tauriel shut her eyes, wishing he had not said that. She had no idea how to respond, so she did not. If he truly believed this to be love, she was in far more danger than she'd thought.

"I have startled you," he said, gently washing the scabs, the water warm and soothing.

"Yes," she said honestly. "I did not realize…"

"I should not have said anything yet," he said, and started with the salve. "Not while you are in mourning. I swore to you that I will ask nothing of you, Tauriel, and I meant it. I want only to keep you safe."

 _So you've said_ , she thought, _over and over. I wonder if you actually believe it_. "I know, my lord. Thranduil." She had a momentary flash of panic at her slip-up. "You are still my lord, no matter what else I call you." That ought to please him.

To her relief, it did. He smiled at her, open and warm, and it would have been wonderful if not for the light in his eyes, that fey gleam of possessiveness and hunger. "In that case, I will forgive you. But you must learn."

"I will," she promised, because she had no other choice. "I would rest now, if I may."

"Of course you may," he said, rising and taking her hands in his. "You need not ask my permission, Tauriel."

 _You could have fooled me_ , she thought, standing. She had a spare nightdress somewhere around here. "I will try to remember that, Thranduil," she said, and he drew her close and kissed her brow.

She felt somewhat better when she'd put on her own clothes, but she was still surrounded by the scent of him, shackled to him by the arm around her waist. If she had the promise of the sun, she could endure this.

Sooner or later, even without a message, Legolas would come home, and bring with him her freedom. All she could do until then was survive, and try to preserve her sanity. She was Tauriel, not Aredhel, and Tauriel she would remain.

* * *

It's a good resolution, Tauriel. Let's see how long you can actually keep to it.

Fortunately for her, Thranduil is kind of the anti-Eöl: Eöl married Aredhel specifically because he wanted to bone her, without caring about her as a person. (Fairly obviously, since he later murdered her without remorse.) Thranduil doesn't actually want to bone Tauriel yet, and he wouldn't act on it until, well, he got her to the point where she's "not wholly unwilling". He really does love her, in some twisted, fucked-up, insane way.


	4. Aggression

Yeah, Thranduil's still a crazypants, but this will at least make him actually engage his brain a bit. He hasn't got much choice.

* * *

Mercifully, when spring came in earnest, Thranduil often let Tauriel out into the garden. Twice he even allowed her out by herself, but she knew that for what it was: testing. He wanted to see if she would run upon given opportunity.

She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to flee into the forest and not look back, but she knew he wouldn't let her get far – and if he thought he couldn't trust her, he wouldn't let her out anymore. She'd be trapped within his rooms, and possibly even chained again.

So she acted like a good little captive, either working in the garden or running the length of it, trying to get her stamina back. It might not be true freedom, but there was sun on her face and wind in her hair, the scent of green, growing things and fresh earth all around her. It kept her sane. Eru knew how long it would take her to find a way to escape, and she would rather not be as mad as Thranduil by the time opportunity presented itself.

Often he would sit in a chair and watch her indulgently, which irked her, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least she could keep her irritation to herself.

This day the sun was warm and fierce, dappling the grass through the branches, and Tauriel paced, unable to sit still to even work among the plants. Thranduil wouldn't give her any shoes – as if going barefoot would actually stop her, should she try to escape – and the grass was like cool velvet beneath her feet.

"You are restless, Tauriel," he said, amusement lacing his voice. He sat in a reclining chair, feet propped up on a low table, head bare and silvery hair almost glowing in the sunlight.

Tauriel wanted to punch him.

"Of course I am," she said, halting. "Thranduil, you forget I was a guard for nearly five hundred years. I am used to running through the entire forest. Don't you trust me enough by now?"

" _You_ I trust," he said. "Others I do not. It is not safe out there – they would try to take you away from me. They believe I hold you prisoner."

 _That is because you_ do, she thought, but she knew that in his madness he would never see in that way. "If they think that because you will not let me out, technically they are right." She forced herself to cross the lawn to him. "Thranduil, I told you I would not leave you, and when has anyone ever managed to force me to do something I do not wish to?" _Aside from you._ If he would but give her the chance to roam freely, she would behave long enough to lull him to complacency, and not run until his trust in her was absolute.

The trouble with running was that she would not gain much of a head start, and the elk could easily outpace any horse. She could not go without a plan, and she still had not yet found a viable one.

Thranduil grabbed her hand, pulling her onto his lap. She barely suppressed a yelp. "You did not wish to stay with me, at first," he accused, eyes narrowed.

"No," she said, "I did not. You frightened me." He frightened her still, though she was better now at hiding it. Appalling though it was, she'd grown somewhat accustomed to him, and learned to better read the vagaries of his moods.

"You frightened me, too," he said, taking her right arm and pulling back her sleeve. The scars of her failed attempt at suicide ran from wrist to elbow, still pink and shiny. She shivered when his fingers lightly traced them. "I so very nearly lost you."

 _Not nearly enough_ , Tauriel thought, while he pressed a kiss to her wrist. This last fortnight there had been more such kisses than usual, and they filled her with dread. "I was lost in grief," she said, and it was true enough – just not the whole of it. She'd grown adept at editing the truth for him, because, while she was a terrible liar, lies by omission were another matter entirely.

"And are you still lost?" he asked, his lips brushing against her skin.

Tauriel shivered again. "No," she said, "but I still grieve." _That_ would surely put him off.

Thankfully, it did – he pulled her down so that her head rested against his shoulder, forehead pressed against his neck. "Do you love me, Tauriel?"

"No," she said. "Not as you love me."

"Someday you will," he assured her, stroking her arm.

"Someday," she repeated, not daring to gainsay him. She was horrified to find she was _not_ horrified by his touch. It seemed that it was another thing she'd grown accustomed to. How much longer would she have to be kept in isolation, before she would let herself be seduced? Not that he'd tried at all yet, but she'd known all along it was only a matter of time.

 _Eru damn you, Legolas._ She hoped he was happy, off running about in the wild while his father played the part of oh-so-gentle captor. The longer this went on, the more creative were the tortures she devised for her erstwhile friend. How could he not have known what he was abandoning her to?

For she had slowly realized that this fixation the King had on her was not a new thing. She still didn't know how far back it went, but it was long enough for him to have sketched literally hundreds of pictures of her. The folder she found on his bookshelf clinched her suspicions, and nearly made her ill. Legolas knew his father well – he had to have had at least an inkling of this strange obsession, yet he had never warned her. And look where it had got her.

"You could have almost anyone you want, Thranduil," she said, unable to stop herself. "Why me?"

She felt as much as heard him sigh. "Because all you have ever asked me for are things for the good of the kingdom," he said. "You are guileless and open and pure, and there is so much in my life that is dark. I need your light, Tauriel. I crave it."

 _And what of me?_ she thought. _What of what_ I _want?_ Clearly, it had never occurred to him, or she wouldn't be here. Thranduil did not love her, he idolized her, and that left her feeling strangely bereft. Oh, he _thought_ it love, but she knew better. And the worst thing was that he would never seen the difference.

Tauriel shut her eyes, unable to argue it. She simply didn't have the energy. Something about his presence wearied her, yet at the same time set her on edge. His fingers twined in the hair at the base of her neck, and she shivered again. It was not a shiver of revulsion, and that terrified her.

"Thranduil, I know you only wish to keep me safe, but if you keep me confined like this, I will go mad," she said. "I do not care if you must chain me to you – at least take me for walks near the halls. Safety is of little use to me if I lose my mind. I miss having _friends_. You take such good care of me, Thranduil, but I miss my fellow guards. At the very least, let me see Huoriel." Huoriel, who had been her best lieutenant.

His grip tightened almost to the point of pain. "You need no one but me," he said firmly. "You will not leave me."

Finally, _finally_ her temper snapped, bursting the dam she had so carefully constructed. "I _do_ need more than you, Thranduil," she said, trying to squirm out of his grasp. "I will never leave you, but I had an entire _life_ that is now lost to me. How would you feel, if someone took away your kingdom to keep you from harm and locked you away, simply because it was dangerous?" For Eru's sake, even Aredhel had the run of Nan Elmoth.

A sane person would have seen the logic in her argument – but then, a sane person would not have locked her up to begin with. Thranduil, however calm he could appear, was far more than a stone's throw away from sanity. He rose, and his expression nearly made her quail. Only stubbornness made her stand her ground.

"I am sorry you feel that way, Tauriel," he said, advancing upon her with all the predatory grace of a panther. "You have a new life now, and you will adapt to it. I have given you all that a person needs. Food. Shelter. Companionship."

"Imprisonment," she said, swallowing hard. The closer he drew, the harder it was not to back away. "You say you love me, Thranduil, but you have taken away so much of what I am."

When he reached for her, she flinched, but though his grasp on her shoulders was hard, it was just this side of painful. The look in his pale eyes, however, was beyond terrifying. "It is because I love you that I have not taken away more," he said, his voice soft and deadly. "It is because I love you that you have light, fresh air, the full run of our chambers." He was backing her through the doorway, and she was powerless to stop him, all but hypnotized by his icy stare. Not until they were inside did he release her, and turned to slam and lock the doors.

"You will stay here until you are grateful for what I give you," he said, shooting her a look that made her shudder. It was not vicious or angry; there was little expression in it at all. In his eyes she was back to being an object, not a creature with mind and fëa.

Tauriel didn't dare breathe until he'd left, slamming and locking the inner door behind him. For a moment, she'd been convinced he'd kill her.

She cast a helpless glance around the room. It was warm day, so the fire burned low; she had to light several lamps to chase away the shadows.

He ought to have killed her – and if he _didn't_ want her dead, he should not have left her on her own. Thranduil had made something of a show of disposing of all the sharp objects in the rooms, but there was one thing he had not thought of.

She lit all the lamps in the bathroom, flooding it with a glow that to her seemed obscene. If the boiler had not been lit, the water would be freezing, but she didn't care.

Drowning was said to be a lovely way to die.

When she turned the tap, the water was indeed frigid, but she crawled into the tub anyway. Once upon a time, when she'd had a life, she and her fellow guards often spent their summer off-hours swimming by the river-gates, and this was no different. She leaned back, shivering as the water rose, and remembered those swims, how happy and carefree she had been before the Dwarves descended upon them, before the battle, before the King went mad.

The water rose.

She wanted those days back – craved them – but they, like so much else, were lost to her now. Her _life_ was lost to her; her heart beat, but that was all. Soon enough it too would still.

The water rose.

Damn Thranduil. Damn Legolas. And damn herself, for not doing this sooner. At least it would be over soon.

The water closed over her head.

* * *

Thranduil was in no good mood when he returned to his rooms, and more than a little drunk.

Selfish Tauriel, wanting more, when he had already given her so much. She had his home, his protection, his love – how dare she demand more of him?

She would learn. He would not keep her locked away so long that she sickened, but she would learn to be grateful for what he gave her. If only she would learn to love him, she would not want more.

She was not in his study, nor was she immediately visible upon entry to his bedroom. There was a crack of light beneath the bathroom door; presumably she was in there, sulking.

It was not just light, though – a stream of water eddied beneath the crack. Already there was a considerable puddle on the bedroom floor. Was she really childish enough to flood the bathroom?

"Tauriel," he snapped, shoving the door open, ready to castigate her soundly.

What he saw froze him where he stood.

The water came from the bathtub, which had long since overflowed. In it, red hair floating around her like seaweed, lay Tauriel.

No. No, no, _no_.

Thranduil fell to his knees beside the tub, wrenching her out of it with considerable difficulty, for her form was entirely inert. The water was frigid, unheated from its river-passage beneath the caverns, wicking its way through his trousers. Tauriel's face was blue with the chill of it, her eyes closed. No. _No_. Eldar only closed their eyes in death.

She wasn't breathing.

He kicked the tap off and carried her out into the light, water soaking through his tunic. He staggered a little on his way to the warmth of the hearth, falling hard onto his knees again. Maneuvering her onto her stomach was not easy, but he braced her over his left arm and hit her back, hard, with his right. The water had been so cold that she might not truly have drowned.

Oh Eru, do not let her have drowned. Do not let her have gone to Mandos to escape him.

He did it again, and again, but it was nearly a quarter of an hour before she coughed a great gout of water onto the floor.

Relief flooded his veins, and he turned her in his arms, watching the color return to her face. She didn't wake, but she breathed, and her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Tauriel," he groaned, burying his face in her frigid hair. "I'm so, so sorry." He ought to go and drown _himself_ , but he had to take care of her. She could not be left like this.

Still she coughed, and still she did not wake – but perhaps that was for the best, for he could not have borne the recrimination in her eyes. Recrimination he knew he deserved.

He lifted her to the divan, shoving it closer to the fire for warmth, and hurried to get her dry clothes. She still had a clean nightdress, but he had to get her dry first. He snatched several towels from the bathroom, the water soaking through his boots, and hurried back to her.

This was not at all the way he would have wanted to first undress her, but there was no choice. He stripped off her clothes as gently as he could, rubbing her all over with the towels in an effort to bring some warmth back into her limbs, wringing out her hair before struggling her into the nightdress. All the while she was limp as a doll, but still she breathed.

He brought her to the bed, trading his own wet clothes for dry trousers, and brought her under the blankets with him. She was shivering now, as the blood began flowing in her veins again, and Thranduil drew her close, holding her as though his own life depended on it. Her breath was a comforting warmth against his chest, though her damp hair was cold. Gently he stroked her arm, though whether it was for her comfort or his, he didn't know.

He should let her go, should send her back to her own rooms and release her from his presence, but he couldn't. Tauriel was everything to him now – he could never let her go.

Ever.

She was wrong about one thing. He truly _did_ love her, and he would make her see it. But first, he was going to have to make a few concessions.

Clearly, they could not go on as they were.

* * *

Good Thranduil. You're actually in the first stages of halfway starting to use your brain. Tauriel is not, in fact, merely an extension of yourself, which you'd best get through your head, because there are still so, so many ways she could kill herself.

How did she survive that, you ask? Mammalian Diving Reflex. Unfortunately for Tauriel, the water was cold enough to kick that in, hence her survival.


	5. Concession

In which Thranduil has decided to make use of the grey matter between his ears, and realizes that he has done Tauriel a very great wrong. (Not that that's about to stop him.)

* * *

Mandos, Tauriel decided, must truly hate her. Twice now he had barred her from his halls, when by all rights she should have entered. Or perhaps the Valar enjoyed her suffering.

She was warm, when she woke, for once not resenting Thranduil's unnatural heat. Her head rested on his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her ear.

When had she stopped fighting the nameless, elusive scent of him? Why was she comforted right now, in spite of her despair? She'd grown used to sleeping against him, and though part of her wanted to kill him, most of her didn't want to move. Both bed and blankets were very soft, and for once the arm around her didn't feel like a shackle.

Though he lay still, his breathing suggested he was awake, so she said, "Why will you not let me die? Do you care nothing for my misery?" The hoarseness of her voice surprised her – but then, her throat and chest were both sore from yesterday's attempt at drowning.

She felt as much as heard him sigh. "I have wronged you, Tauriel," he said, his fingers playing along her arm. "I see that now, but I cannot let you go. I would die without you."

Her heart sank, but he went on:

"I cannot yet you out. Not yet. But I will take you out into the forest, and when I am away, I will send Huoriel to you."

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start – and much better than what she'd had this far. "Thank you, Thranduil." She knew that his motives with Huoriel weren't entirely pure: after two failed attempts at suicide, he had to have realized that leaving her alone was not wise. If she had her friend, she was far less likely to want to – and Huoriel would stop her if she tried.

Still, she would take it, and happily. It really was a bit pathetic, just how much that pleased her, but she'd had little enough pleasure since the battle.

"You have lied to me all along, Tauriel," he said, fingers now twining in her hair. "Why?"

She shut her eyes. "I feared what you would do if I did not."

His hand stilled. "Did you really think I would harm you?" he asked, and he actually sounded wounded.

"I did not know. And I did not wish to find out."

Thranduil sighed again, and pulled her closer, so that she was nearly lying atop him, the crown of her head just beneath his chin. "Do you think I will hurt you now?"

"I do not know. You _wanted_ to, earlier. I saw it in your eyes. I thought you were going to kill me."

The sound in his chest was truly pained. "Do not fear me, Tauriel," he said. "And do not feel you must lie to me." He actually sounded…almost like himself. Certainly less like the mad creature who had imprisoned her all these months. "I will not hurt you for telling the truth."

She tried to sit up enough to look at him, but it was a moment before he let her. His face was paler than normal, the madness she was so used to seeing in his eyes mostly subsumed by pain, visible even in the darkened room. "Can you promise me that?"

Her question only made the pain deepen, and he gently dragged his knuckles along her cheek. "Yes," he said, and there was nothing but honesty in his voice. "I would kill anything that tried to harm you, Tauriel. Including myself. You are all I have."

"No, I am not," she said, as gently as she could. She shouldn't feel any need to comfort him, but strangely, she did. "You have an entire kingdom of people who would love you, if only you would let them. You have a son who will return to you, once he has worked out his anger."

Though of Legolas – and why he had left – made her pause. "Thranduil, would you really have killed me, had he not intervened?"

"Of course not," he said, now tracing the shell of her ear. "No more than you would have shot me. But I should not have threatened you at all."

Tauriel rested her head on his shoulder again. "I should not have threatened you, either," she said, "but I am not sorry I did. Had we left, there would be no Dale, and possibly no Erebor, and an army of orcs would have wound up on our doorstep. So many of us would have died anyway, and for what?"

"My own selfishness," he sighed. "I spent my people's lives for a box of gems – that I did not even receive, I might add. But even if I had, the cost would not have been worth it."

Tauriel didn't know what to say that would not sound cruel, so she said nothing for a moment. "Had we not gone, the Dwarves and Edain would all have died, and still we would have lost our people, when the orcs came to us. I cannot tell you I approve of _why_ we went, but it is as well that we did." She wasn't going to lie and call his motivation justified, because it had been staggeringly selfish, and she did not understand it in the least – but she also didn't need to hit him upside the head with the truth. Likely he already knew, and if he did not, nothing she said would sway him.

"Why do you sound more like _you_ now?" she added, before he could respond. She was only dimly aware that she was running her fingers over his shoulder, and she only realized it at all because he shivered under her touch.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"All these last months you have been…mercurial," she said. "It was part of why I feared you. I never knew, from moment to moment, what would please or anger you. It was as if you had gone mad." There was still madness in his eyes, however faint, but she was hardly going to mention _that_. Not when they seemed to actually be making some manner of progress.

"I _was_ mad, Tauriel," he said, kissing the crown of her head. "Where you are concerned, I have always been so, and I do not know why. I should not have wanted and needed you as I did. As I still do. I know I should let you go, but I simply cannot do it. Knowing you are here is all that gets me through most days."

The thought made her twitch. "I cannot be the whole of your salvation, Thranduil," she said. "That is too much of a burden for any one person to bear. You need friends."

Thranduil laughed, harsh and bitter. "Kings do not have _friends_ ," he said, nearly spitting the word. "They have councilors and servants, but they cannot afford friendships with their own people. That only leads to infighting and intrigue."

"You have Bard," she pointed out. "Yes, he is mortal, but he surely understands the difficulty of ruling – and moreover, he will have no idea how to do it. He would welcome advice."

Thoughtful silence followed that, while he continued to twine his fingers in her hair. "Perhaps _you_ should be my chief councilor," he said at last. "No other has suggested that."

"No other knows you are lonely. And you cannot tell me you are not – if you weren't, I wouldn't be here," Tauriel added.

"You are too perceptive for your own good," he grumbled.

Now it was she who laughed. "Would you want me if I was not?"

"I would always want you, but I might not love you."

She shuddered a little. "I wish you would not say that," she said.

"Why?"

"Before, it terrified me. Now it simply makes me feel guilty," she admitted.

"Even if you never love me in return, Tauriel, your presence is balm enough," he assured her. "If it unsettles you, I will not say it."

 _But I will know you think it_ , she thought. She still didn't believe he truly loved her, even though he seemed much more sane now. "I would appreciate that," she said. "I dislike feeling guilty."

"You have no reason for guilt," he said. "This is my problem, not yours."

He rolled her to the side, so that he could see her face. "If I let you bathe alone, will you try to drown yourself again?"

"No, Thranduil," she said, and meant it. "No, I will not."

* * *

The bath was glorious, but better still was the appearance of Huoriel. She was a tall elleth, dark-haired and grey-eyed like many of the Silvan people, and her relief upon seeing Tauriel was palpable. As soon as Thranduil was gone, she pulled her into a fierce, unaccustomed embrace that made breathing somewhat difficult.

"Are you well?" she asked, pulling back to look Tauriel in the eye. "Has he harmed you?"

"Yes," Tauriel said, "and no. Up until this morning Thranduil has seemed quite mad, but the only harm I have come to here is by my own hand."

"Morwen said you slit your arms," Huoriel said, taking her by the shoulders.

"I did," she admitted. "And yesterday I tried to drown myself. I think that snapped Thranduil out of the worst of his madness."

"Why do you call him that?" Huoriel asked.

"He insisted," Tauriel said dryly. "Now it is merely habit." She drew Huoriel over the divan, adding wood to the fire. "What have I missed, these last months?"

"Everyone thinks the King has lost his mind," she said. "We had a funeral for the fallen, and have sung their laments each night. Beyond that, things are much as they have always been. We greatly miss you as captain – Beleg is competent, but he is not you." She paused. "Do you think the King will ever allow you to return to your post?"

Tauriel snorted. "Perhaps in five hundred years. This is the first morning since I have been here that he seems something close to himself. This is the first morning he has let me take a _bath_ on my own."

Huoriel's eyes widened, and Tauriel wished she hadn't mentioned that. "Has he tried…anything?"

"No, actually – which greatly surprised me at first," Tauriel said. "Whatever it is he wants from me, it is not that, thank Eru. For all his constant need to touch me, he has been strangely chivalrous. Never once have I sensed any desire of that sort from him."

Huoriel breathed a sigh of relief. "I confess, we had all feared it would be otherwise."

" _I_ feared it too, at first," she admitted. "Though not for long. Even in his madness, he made it clear early on that it was only contact he craved. And that is much easier to give now that he is…less mad. There are times I have feared he would hurt me, but never like that."

"Do you fear it still?" Huoriel asked carefully.

"No, actually. He seems much more the ellon I know. I pray that it lasts. I think that it will – he might have dismissed my first attempt to kill myself as grief, but he could not do so this time. I think that woke him up, in a sense. He has remembered that I am a person, not the avatar of his hope. It is a start."

Huoriel looked at her more carefully still, grey eyes searching her face. "Tauriel, what is it you want?"

"I wish I was not trapped here," she said, "but my presence seems an aid to him now, not a detriment." She did not want to admit now much she had enjoyed this morning, no matter how difficult the conversation. No doubt _she_ would be the one who sounded mad.

Her friend's expression went grave. "Do you actually want to leave?"

"Leave this room? Eru, yes. Never in my life have I been so confined. Leave Thranduil? I…do not know. I do not think so." Her answer genuinely surprised her, especially since only yesterday she'd been willing to _kill_ herself to escape him.

But he did not now seem to be the person she had been trying to escape from. This morning he had spoken to her as though she were a _person_ , and while the depth of his need for her disturbed her greatly, it was weirdly nice to be needed.

If only he would let her _out_. He said that knowing she was here each night was a comfort, but she could just as easily come to his rooms in the evening after her own work was done. She didn't _have_ to go on long-range scouting missions – at this point, she would even accept being a palace guard, and staying within the halls. It was not ideal, but she would take what she would get. Hopefully, she could with time get him to see that there was no peril in wandering around her own home. At least now he seemed capable of actually listening to her.

Huoriel looked deeply worried, and Tauriel did not wonder why. If she had any sense, she'd run as far as she could, as fast as she could – but one of the few truths she'd told Thranduil all along was that she had nowhere else to go. Lothlórien and Imladris did not appeal to her; she was a child of the Woodland Realm, dark and dangerous though it was. Leaving it would kill her, no matter how difficult staying was.

"Enough of that," she said. "I want details. Has Beleg finally worked up the courage to court Menelwen, or must you drag him here so I can hit him upside the head?"

* * *

When the King returned to his chambers that evening, Huoriel left, deeply troubled.

She had not expected Tauriel to resign herself to her captivity, even a little. Had she not been grieving the loss of her Dwarf when it began, she might not have now.

The guards had for months been hatching a plot to spirit her away somewhere, consequences be damned, but it would not work if she did not actually wish to _go._ And the longer she stayed, the less likely she was to want to.

The others would not be pleased by this news, though they _would_ be glad she had not been harmed. At least there was that to be grateful for, even if everything else was disturbing.

Perhaps it was time for a new plan. Their current one certainly wasn't going to work.

* * *

In spite of her words to Huoriel, Tauriel still greeted Thranduil's return with a certain amount of apprehension. She had no way of knowing if his clarity of this morning had persisted, or if he would return to her as a mad stranger again.

When she saw that it was the former, her relief was immeasurable. The odd possessiveness in his eyes remained, but it was largely subsumed by simple affection – and now that she knew it for what it was, she realized it had always been there. It was unsettling, but not nearly so much so as his madness.

"Did you enjoy Huoriel's company?" he asked, removing his crown and setting it on the mantle.

"I did," she said, sitting in an armchair with her legs tucked under her. "She told me of all the goings-on that would be beneath your notice."

He actually looked pleased by that as he shed his heavy outer robe, tossing it carelessly on the other armchair. He really was surprisingly indifferent to the care of his fine clothes. "Good," he said, sitting on the divan. "Now come here."

She still felt a frisson of trepidation when she approached, but not nearly so much as she would have even yesterday. It was much easier to sit on his lap when she wasn't afraid he would break her neck if she breathed wrong.

"I will spare you the details of my day," he said, tucking her head beneath his chin. " _I_ found it dull, so it would likely put you to sleep."

"I would think dull would be good," she said, a little disturbed by how comfortable she was. "It means all is quiet."

"It _is_ good," Thranduil said, absently running his fingers through her hair. "That does not, however, make it any more entertaining. No one argues with me anymore."

 _They are not insane_ , she thought. Aloud, she said, "Give them reason to. Suggest something so outlandish they could not possibly silently condone it."

"Like what?" he asked, his fingers now trailing down her arm.

"Tell them that all nobility must color their hair pink for some upcoming feast," she replied. "Lord Falchon in particular would faint with horror. Menelwen says he is the most vain ellon she had ever heard of." Her brother was servant to Falchon; she would know.

Thranduil laughed – truly laughed, without bitterness or madness, and what tension she harbored eased a bit. This too was a side of him with which she was unfamiliar, but it was infinitely more welcome. This was a Thranduil she could hope to reason with, though she knew she should not push for more freedom yet. That, she was sure, would have to come by degrees, for mad or not, he was still fully convinced of his feelings for her. Tauriel had much more work to do, if she was to gain enough of his trust to actually be let out unaccompanied, but at least that now seemed _possible_.

"And what of you, Tauriel?" he asked, resting his cheek on her head. "Would you color your hair pink?"

"Absolutely not," she snorted. "Were I a noble and you asked that of me, I would rebel."

"I am glad you are not a noble," he said. "I am glad you would demand nothing of me."

 _Well,_ liberty _would be nice_. "I want nothing from anyone but myself," she said, "and never have." She had lost her parents so young that she no longer remembered what it was, to need someone. All she had ever wanted, until she met Kili, was to do her job, and do it well.

 _I have a new job now_ , she thought, staring into the dancing flames. Her task now was to get some semblance of her old life back – to make Thranduil trust her enough to give it. That task no longer seemed so odious.

"I know you want sunlight," he said. "Tomorrow, we will walk in the forest."

Tauriel smiled. "Thank you, Thranduil."

* * *

Why hello there, beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome. Thranduil's actually far more dangerous to her like this than when he was a crazypants, because she's starting to let her guard down. At least it's progress?


	6. Progression

In which Thranduil finally starts to realize the sheer enormity of what he's done, and Tauriel tries for freedom. Not gonna lie, I cried when I wrote this, and I never do that.

* * *

Huoriel's visits helped immensely, though Tauriel also felt somewhat guilty – given that they remained confined to Thranduil's rooms, her friend probably found it rather dull.

At least she didn't have to come every day. With the kingdom so quiet, Thranduil frequently took partial or full days off, and spent them in the garden or forest with her, out in the sunshine. While Tauriel could not say she was _happy_ – she never would be, so long as her freedom was so curtailed – she was, for now, more or less content. Which was a massive, massive improvement.

And Thranduil, she found, could be wickedly funny when he felt like it. His spot-on impersonation of Lord Falchon made her laugh so hard she nearly cried.

"You should not mock the poor ellon so," she said, lying back on the grass. It had recently been cut, and the sweet scent of it still lingered.

"And yet he makes it so easy," Thranduil snorted. "He is fortunate I do not say so to his face. He agrees with everything I say almost before I have finished saying it, and looks so insufferably smug while doing so. Clearly, he feels I actually value his opinion."

"Then why do you keep him on your council?" she asked, lacing her hands behind her head. The canopy above her was thick and green, letting down shafts of sunlight that warmed her face.

He joined her on the grass, absently toying with her hair. "Because if I did not, he would do his best to make trouble, and not of the sort that entertains me. Court intrigue is tedious, and I would prefer to avoid it where I can."

"I cannot imagine anyone scheming against you," she said, and meant it. Thranduil could be so very intimidating, whether he wanted to be or not. "I do not think you realize how very softly people tread around you." Even Legolas had, to an extent, though she was hardly going to say _that_. That was something Thranduil would have to hear from his mouth, not hers.

"They are lucky I am not my father," he said. "Few who knew him remain on this shore, but he had a fearsome temper. Far more so than I."

 _That_ was a terrifying thought. Thranduil's rages were infamous for a reason. "Was he a dreadful tyrant?"

"On the whole, no. He was always fair in his ruling, but those who crossed him repented of it immensely. The dungeons were far more heavily occupied in his day."

Tauriel turned her head to look at him. In the sunlight, his profile looked like it had been carved of luminescent marble. "He would shut away his own people?" she asked, incredulous.

"Often without hesitation," he said, "though some more readily than others. The nobles had more cause for fear."

His tone was such that Tauriel burst out laughing. "Why have you not maintained the tradition?"

He looked back at her. "Too much effort," he intoned solemnly, arching an eyebrow.

That set her off all over again. "I would never have thought you would have found anything too much effort," she said. "Except, perhaps, sobriety." The wine had been flowing freely this entire afternoon, as it often did when he was near.

"I only put effort into things I decide are worth it," he said, turning on his side to run his knuckles down her cheek. The touch made her shiver, but it did not frighten her – as ever, while there was a strange kind of desire in it, it was not carnal. She probably ought to be disturbed by how pleasant it was, but strangely, she was not. It was not a silent request for anything she would not give.

"Then perhaps it would be easier simply to color Lord Falchon's hair pink," she said. "It would render the dungeon unnecessary, as he would not dare leave his rooms and face the inevitable ridicule."

Thranduil's smile was so warm that she wished she was seeing it under other circumstances. However pleasant their afternoons and evenings, he was still holding her prisoner. Always that thought lurked at the back of her mind, no matter how he distracted her with his words and his laughter and his little touches. The madness in his eyes had subsided, but that strange possessiveness lingered, and she didn't think it would ever fully leave. Not if it was as deeply-rooted as she suspected.

 _Why_ did he have to have gone about things this way? Had things been different, had he approached her like a normal, sane person, perhaps she might have been receptive to him. He had shown her a side of himself that she would have found charming if he wasn't her jailer. A deep, dark part of her did anyway, but she chalked _that_ up to her near-total isolation. When he was with her, all his attention was focused upon her – and now that he was not blatantly insane, that could be…nice. It shouldn't be, but it was.

"Perhaps I will do that," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "If only to see his face when I give the order."

"Paint a picture, once you have," she said, and paused. She feared to ask her next question equally as much as she needed to, because he would almost certainly deny her, but she asked anyway. "Thranduil, Midsummer approaches. Will you not take me with you to the feast?" She chose her words carefully; she knew that saying 'let me go' would be met with outright refusal, because he was still _slightly_ mad. She waited for his answer with a trepidation she hated – going to a feast should not be something she would have to ask permission for, let alone need to negotiate.

Thranduil shut his eyes and turned away, the sun lighting on his face. "Tauriel…"

" _Please_ , Thranduil," she said, and the only thing that kept her request from sounding like outright begging was her tone, which was as firm as she could make it. "I have not missed a Midsummer's feast in all the time I have lived in your halls."

She sat up on her elbow, touching his face, silently ordering him to open his eyes. "I do not know why you still insist on keeping me confined," she said, meeting his gaze steadily. "I can easily come to you in the evening, and those can remain exactly as they are. This time I do not lie when I say I do not wish to part from you, but I need you to trust me. I need you to know that I will not leave you if you give me freedom."

He had to see the truth in her eyes. He _had_ to. She held her breath when he traced his forefinger over her brow, his own eyes bright and searching.

"I will think on it, Tauriel," he said. "You are right – someday I must bring myself to let you out. You must understand, Tauriel, it is not you I mistrust. There are those who would take you from me, whether you will or no."

It wasn't what she wanted to hear – especially since his last sentence was rank paranoia – but it was better than straight refusal. "They could _try_ to take me away," she said. "You know as well as I how poorly that would end, and not for me."

"My heart knows that, Tauriel," he said, pulling her down to kiss her brow. "It is my mind that doubts."

"Well, think on this," she said, sitting up so that she might look him in the eye. She'd just had a brilliant idea, or so she hoped. "If those who would seek to take me from you see that I am content, they will be less likely to try."

"Content?" he said, trailing his fingers along her jaw. "Not happy?"

"I still mourn, Thranduil," she said honestly. "Mourning rather precludes happiness." She had been more able to mourn in the last fortnight, now that she did not spend every waking – and most of her sleeping – hours fearing him. "It has not yet been half a year since I lost Kili."

He closed his eyes. "Of course," he said. "You cannot be happy yet. But I hope that, someday, I can make you so."

"I do, too," she said, though she was not so certain of the truth in that declaration. She wanted to be happy again eventually, but after all Thranduil had done, she was not sure he could ever be the one to give it to her. No matter how kind he was, no matter how much she enjoyed his company, she could never forget the chain. She would never be able to truly trust him again.

And strangely, that grieved her. Perhaps they truly could have had something with one another, had he not been such a possessive fool.

* * *

To her surprise – and distinct pleasure – he left the doors to the garden ajar when they went to bed. She didn't even mind that it was likely another sort of test; what mattered was that she could sleep in fresh night air, with moonlight on her face. And he had to trust her, if he was willing to give such a test.

Tauriel lay long awake, watching the silvery beams of light that pierced the forest's canopy. It was a sight she had so long taken for granted during her centuries of patrol, but now it made her silently weep with relief.

Naturally, Thranduil somehow knew of it. "Why are you crying?" he asked, the words a warm breath against her hair.

Thoughtlessly, she answered, "I never thought I would see moonlight again."

Behind her, he tensed, and she felt him rest his forehead against the crown of her head. His arm tightened a little around her middle. "Have I made you so very miserable, Tauriel?" he asked, and she was shocked at the raw _anguish_ in his voice. It was so intense that she was actually tempted to lie, but she had promised him she would not do that again.

"Yes," she said simply. "Not anymore, but until the last fortnight, yes, you did. I did not try to take my own life for no reason."

It was brutal, but it was the truth, and sooner or later he needed to hear it. At least now she did not fear he would hurt her for uttering it.

She was even more shocked when she felt the wet heat of tears on the back of her neck. "I am sorry, Tauriel," he said, and he sounded so very, very broken. "I am sorry for everything. I am sorry I cannot let you go."

It had not occurred to her before that perhaps Thranduil was much a slave to his madness as she was. She shut her eyes a moment. "I would not go far. _Why_ can you not believe me? Why can you not believe that I will return, if you do not keep me locked up?"

"I do not know," he said, and she could feel his eyelashes brush against her skin. "I do not know, but I cannot."

Tauriel turned to face him, and her heart nearly broke when he raised his head to look at her. Even after all the hell he had put her through, seeing him like this was so, so wrong. This was an entirely new Thranduil, yet another to add to the collection she had met. Whatever words she had been about to speak fled her when she saw the agony in his eyes.

"Tauriel, could you ever love me?" he asked, cupping the side of her face.

She shut her eyes again, unable to bear the sight of his pain. "Perhaps I could have, once," she said, incapable of holding back her tears, "but no."

"Why not?" he asked, his thumb tracing one hot tear-track. The sheer tenderness of the gesture only hurt even more.

"Because even if you gave me my freedom tomorrow," she said, her breath hitching on a brutally suppressed sob, her eyes opening of their own accord, "even if my life became what it always was, and you gave me everything I could ever want, I could never forget the chain."

She thought she could pinpoint the exact moment his heart shattered – and, though it was entirely his own fault, she still grieved for him. He had lost so very much, but this loss was his own doing, and he knew it.

He pulled her close, and she no longer bothered trying to contain her own weeping. She could have loved him, had he but show her the side of him she had come to know without the preceding insanity, and that hurt more than anything. She wrapped her arms around him, though it was no comfort to her, and probably not to him, either.

"Do you hate me?" he asked, his voice hoarse, fingers twining almost desperately in her hair.

"No," she said, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. "I should, but I do not. I do not love you, Thranduil, but neither do I wish to part from you."

His arms tightened around her, but it was not as his embraces had been before – this time, she did not feel smothered. "Would you stay with me, if I left the doors unlocked?" he asked. "Would you come back each night and lie beside me, and listen to the foolishness of my days?"

She should say no, but, twisted as it was, _wrong_ as it was, she didn't want to. "Only if you promise me you will not lock me in again."

Thranduil exhaled a ragged breath into her hair. "I promise," he said. "I swear I will never confine you anywhere again."

Tauriel did not actually believe that, but she believed that he believed it. It would have to be good enough, until he inevitably failed. "Then yes," she said, "I will come back to you." Where she would actually go _tomorrow_ , she did not know, but it didn't matter. Freedom would be enough.

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"Someday," she said. _When I no longer have nightmares about the chain_. And she had no idea how long _that_ would take. "Go to sleep, Thranduil. I will still be here when you wake."

* * *

Oh dear. Now we've got Lima Syndrome joining the Stockholm Syndrome. These two are such a mess. At least Thranduil is finally, _finally_ starting to realize the sheer enormity of what he's done.


	7. Accession

Tauriel, now at liberty, does not realize just how much her captivity has affected her. Everyone else, on the other hand, does – including Thranduil, who cannot help but use it to his own advantage. Because he is still, in his own silent way, a crazypants.

* * *

Tauriel woke to the warmth of the sun on her face, and the warmth of Thranduil at her back. She hadn't even moved, but already her heart sang the song of freedom.

Hopefully freedom, anyway. He might well go back on his word, though she doubted it. Terrible as last night's conversation had been, it seemed she'd finally truly gotten through to him. And she'd only had to shatter his heart to do it.

She still felt terrible about it, too, despite the fact that it was entirely his own damn fault. After all he'd done to her, all he'd put her through, she shouldn't feel sorry for him, but she did. Now that she had the chance, she ought to flee and never look back, but…she couldn't. She didn't _want_ to. And that was so very wrong. Perhaps his madness had infected her as well, through sheer proximity.

It would have been so much easier to hate him, if his motives had been different. If he'd wanted physical comfort of a different sort. Debasement was easy to loathe, but all the nightmares he had put her through had been because he borderline worshipped her. Which was every bit as wrong, but easier to stomach. She had long doubted that his intentions were as pure as he believed, but it seemed she was wrong. What he wanted was almost the antithesis of a mistress, and that…

That she did not mind, no matter how much she ought to. And oh, she ought to.

She turned in his arms, and wasn't surprised he was already awake. He likely hadn't gone to sleep. His face was too pale, his silvery hair incredibly mussed, and sorrow lurked in his eyes.

"Where will you go today?" he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I do not know," she said, "but I promise I will come back."

He didn't look like he believed her, so she would simply have to prove him wrong. She could not bear the pain in his eyes, no matter that it was his own doing. "You should not," he said, shutting his eyes. "You should run as far away from me as you can."

"Yes," she said simply, touching his chin, "I should. But I do not want to. Tonight I will return, and we will walk in the moonlight, and you will see that I am not so faithless as to be foresworn."

He opened his eyes again. "Is that the only reason?" he asked. "Because you do not wish to be foresworn?"

"No," she said. "Eru knows why, but I've grown rather fond of you, Thranduil, though by all rights I ought to want to gut you like a pig."

He actually arched an eyebrow. "I do not know if I should be flattered or insulted."

"Both, I should think. Now let me up – I'm sure my hair is atrocious, and I want to eat breakfast on the lawn."

* * *

Huoriel was shocked to speechlessness when, upon her visit to Tauriel, she discovered they were not to spend the day imprisoned yet again.

"He is letting you _out_?" she said eventually, dumbfounded.

"We had a long – if painful – discussion last night," Tauriel said. "He's finally accepted that yes, he is in fact incredibly mad. Soon I will suggest he see the healers, but not yet. The wounds I dealt him are too raw."

Huoriel noticed that during all this, Tauriel stood at the very edge of the doorway, but did not cross it. "Let us get some breakfast," she said, watching Tauriel's bare feet. Why did she have no shoes?

"Can we not tell everyone I'm free just yet?" Tauriel asked. "I have been isolated for so long that a large group might totally overwhelm me. Let us find Beleg and Menelwen for now, and venture further after we've eaten."

She still had not crossed the threshold, and that filled Huoriel with strange kind of dread. She had heard of this kind of thing before – victims of long-term captivity who began to empathize with their captors. Tauriel had not been prisoner long, but she'd been so vulnerable and mazed with grief at the start of it. Under normal circumstances it might have taken centuries to break her, but she'd already _been_ broken.

"Very well," Huoriel said. "Come on."

To her intense relief, Tauriel actually followed. What in Eru's name were they to do _now_? Now that Tauriel had some manner of freedom, she was even less likely to want to leave. Forcing her to go would be impossible; even if they tied her up and stuffed her in a sack, she'd find a way back here. Not for nothing was she one of the finest warriors in the Guard.

No, they had to break the King's hold on her somehow, and Huoriel had no idea how to do it.

* * *

Freedom was so wonderful that Tauriel almost wept with the joy of it. She and Huoriel were merely wandering the corridors, but it was more than she had had in months. The chill of the stone floor beneath her feet was not really any different than it had been in Thranduil's rooms, but it _felt_ different.

She was, however, strangely reluctant to meet up with other people. But then, perhaps it was not so strange – she was well aware that she had to have been an object of pity to all who knew of her captivity, which at this point was probably everyone. And even if Thranduil had still been in the full throes of his madness, she wanted no one's pity. It was not a thing she looked forward to seeing, but neither was it enough to keep her from her friends.

That did not, however, mean she wanted to see them all at once. They would be smack in the middle of shift change at this hour, and the guardroom would be a madhouse. Hopefully she and Huoriel could simply walk for a while, so that she might take in the sight of things she had thought she would never see again. Never had the halls looked so beautiful – her eyes took in the winding walkways and carved pillars with greed, and when they passed a waterfall, she paused a moment to feel its icy spray on her face.

"If there is one good thing about my captivity," she said, shutting her eyes to savor the sensation, "it is that I will never take the halls or forest for granted again. I did not realize how very much I _did_ take for granted, before."

She felt Huoriel's eyes on her, and knew without looking that they were filled with skepticism. Having never been _held_ captive, there was no way she could understand.

"Tauriel," she said, "do you not think the King will lock you away again later?"

Tauriel looked at her. "I know he will not," she said, "because he could not bear it if I hated him. As I said, we had a long, if difficult, conversation." She would say no more than that, for her sake as well as his.

She was not at all surprised when Huoriel said, firmly, "You should leave. Not just the halls, but the whole of the Woodland Realm."

"And where would I go? Lothlórien? Imladris? I was born in the Woodland Realm, Huoriel. This forest is in my bones. Perhaps I would be safer in some other Elven realm, but I would never be happy. Can you say you would be?"

"No," Huoriel said, "but I have also never been held prisoner in my own home. You are _not_ safe here, nor are you happy."

"No," Tauriel agreed, "I am not. But now that I have freedom, someday I can be again. Once Thranduil has got it into his fool head that I do not intend to leave him, I will rejoin the Guard, and all will be, if not what it once was, well again." Even without her captivity, things could never have been wholly as they were; Kili's death and Legolas's departure had seen to that.

Huoriel's gaze was still skeptical, but she would come around, in time. Once she saw that Thranduil's odd madness was not of the sort that had led him to imprison her.

* * *

Menelwen was quite shocked when she heard Tauriel was at liberty.

Beleg had seen her walking with Huoriel, and rushed to Menelwen with his news. Both had come off night shift, but she was suddenly no longer weary. She followed him hurriedly, practically running through halls and over walkways.

The pair stood before a waterfall, and Huoriel did not look happy. _Tauriel_ seemed content enough, no doubt relishing her newfound freedom.

Her face lit up when she saw them, and she launched herself at Menelwen with such force that it nearly knocked them both over the edge of the parapet, crushing her in an embrace that she would swear made her ribs creak.

" _Air_ ," she croaked, and Tauriel released her, leaning back to look at her face, green eyes positively greedy.

"It is good to see you, Menelwen," she said. "And you, Beleg. I had hoped you would be on night shift."

"For once, I will not complain of it," he said. "How long are you free?"

"As long as I wish," she said, "though I promised Thranduil I would return in the evening."

He cast a sober, worried glance at Menelwen, who returned it.

"Oh, enough with that look," Tauriel said, exasperated. "We had long conversation about why he has been utterly ridiculous so far. He has come to what senses he has."

Menelwen was deeply, deeply disturbed. Tauriel seemed to genuinely believe her own words. The King might not have hurt her in any physical sense, but he had clearly done _something_ to her mind, intentionally or not.

"Oh, forget it," Tauriel said, clearly seeing her disturbance. "I am starving. We should get some breakfast, and tonight you can assure everyone that I have not been horribly tortured these last months. I will show them myself tomorrow."

"Why not today?" Beleg asked.

"I have been so long away from other people that I think a crowd might overwhelm me," she said. "I would not be able to handle so many questions at once. And I know full well there would be dozens of them."

 _Most would be some variation of 'have you lost your mind?'_ , Menelwen thought, but she could already see the answer for herself. _Someone_ had to find Legolas, before whatever damage the King had done had become irreparable.

But perhaps it already was. Tauriel did not seem to realize it had been done at all.

* * *

Thranduil had been genuinely worried that Tauriel would not actually return, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when she came through the door – staggered through it, to be precise. Her color was high, her eyes shining – clearly she had been to the wine cellar.

"Did you enjoy your day?" he asked, when she tripped her way over to embrace him.

"You cannot imagine how much." Yes, there was a distinct scent of alcohol on her breath. "You cannot imagine it at all."

She sounded so pleased that guilt stabbed through him. Simple freedom should make her nearly so happy and grateful. He really _had_ done her a tremendous wrong, if a mere day with her friends could make her so ecstatic.

He couldn't bring himself to say so, though, even as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the crown of her head. What had he _done_ to her? He wished she would try to beat him, not embrace him, for Eru knew he deserved it.

 _You finally have her_ , he thought bitterly. _And all you had to do to get her was break her._

She must have felt his tension, for she leaned back enough to look up at him. "Thranduil, what's wrong?"

He took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "You should not be so delighted by something that ought to have been your right all along," he said. "I should never have locked you in here."

"No," she said, "you should not have, and I wish you had not. I wish you had shown the side of you I have seen this last fortnight, like a normal person." She said it so bluntly, with little in the way of actual accusation.

 _Without the chain_ , he thought, more bitterly still. The chain, which had wrecked any hope he might have had.

"But that does not mean I wish to leave you utterly," she added. "Wrong it might be, but I like this side of you, and I would see more of it, even if I can never be what you want."

How could she say that? How could she want anything more to do with him, after what he had put her through?

 _Because you broke her_ , he thought, _and she does not even know it._

And yet some dark part of him was glad of it. For if she had truly wished to wash her hands of him entirely, he could not have let her. And he did not want to think about what he might have done to keep her.

"Tauriel, how can I ever atone for what I have done to you?" he asked wretchedly.

Her eyes were serious when she said, "I do not know."

It was a better answer than 'you cannot', but he knew that was the truth. He could grant her every desire in the world, and still it would not make up for the torment she had endured.

"Almost I wish you would hate me," he said, kissing her brow. "Eru knows I deserve it, and yet I could not bear it if you did." He did not know what he would do, if she did one day decide to loathe him – but he doubted it would be anything good. She deserved so much better than what she had received from him so far, but that did not mean he would be able to give it to her. He was far too selfish.

"Yes, you do," she agreed easily, "but no, I do not. Now tell me about your day – have you yet brought up the pink hair to Lord Falchon?"

He laughed. "No," he said. "if I ever do, I want you to be there, so that you might witness his expression firsthand."

"If only I had an artist's hand, to capture it for posterity," she said, drawing away and moving to the divan. In the firelight her hair was like a river of flame itself, her skin lit rose and gold. "I spent much time with my friends today," she said, gesturing for him to join her. "Beleg _still_ has not mustered the courage to court Menelwen. I fear it might take him another five hundred years."

Thranduil sat beside her, pulling her close. Her head seemed to be made to rest in the crook of his shoulder. "Has anyone said anything to him?" In reality he cared nothing about it, but Tauriel did, so he would take an interest for her sake.

"Most of us, I should think, but he is deathly afraid of her elder brother."

A terrible thought occurred to him: what if someone should seek to court _her_ one day? She was young; the death of her Dwarf might have broken her heart, but it would mend with time. Would he ever, even for the sake of her own happiness, be able to allow some other ellon to court her?

No. No, he would not. _Could_ not. She did not love him, but he could not bear the thought of her loving someone else.

At least that was a problem he need not worry about for a few centuries; she would not be willing to accept any suit with her Dwarf still fresh in her mind. Meanwhile, he could quietly make it known that any ellon who later tried would regret it. Immensely. Tauriel was _his_ , even if not entirely in the way he would wish, if he ever allowed himself.

"He who hesitates is lost," he said. "If he so fears her brother, perhaps I will have a word with the ellon."

"You would do that?" she asked, her surprise obvious.

"They are your friends," he said, twining his fingers in her fiery hair. If even so small a thing could please her, he would do it. "Besides, I know who Menelwen's brother is, and he thinks far too highly of his own skill."

Tauriel laughed. "And what of my skill? Would you be terribly upset if I resumed training?"

 _Yes_ , he thought, but he could not say so without completely offending her. "Tauriel, you need not ask my permission," he said, stroking her temple.

"I am not asking _permission_ , I am asking if it would bother you," she said.

"To be honest, yes," he said, "but I know that is irrational, and that your training is part of who you are. Do not let my own ridiculousness dissuade you." Logically, he knew that there were few in the kingdom more capable of taking care of themselves, but where Tauriel was concerned, logic was often not to be found.

"Why are you only _now_ fearing that something horrible will happen to me?" she asked, sitting up to look at him.

"I have always feared it," he said, running his hand up her spine. "Always, since the first day you put on your uniform. Even when you became one of our fiercest warriors, I dreaded what might happen to you in the darkest parts of the forest."

She looked completely nonplussed, the expression only amplified by the shine of alcohol in her eyes. "Silly King," she said, poking his chin. "If I ever die, it will be in the most spectacularly destructive way possible. Tales of it will be told for millennia."

"Now _that_ I believe. Have you eaten at all, or is your stomach full of wine?"

"No, an yes. I hope we're having something good for dinner."

That night Thranduil lay long awake, while Tauriel slept with her head on his shoulder.

Every dark instinct he possessed wanted to lock her up again, to keep her wholly to himself and away from the outside world, from anything that could try to take her from him. The sane, actually _caring_ part of him did all it could to subsume that darkness, because he did not want to be responsible for even another moment of misery to her. He had done far, far too much damage to her already.

She had returned to him, he told the darkness, just as she promised. She returned smiling, closer to happiness than he had seen her since before the battle, pleased to eat dinner with him in the moonlight. _That_ was what he wanted, what he needed. Tauriel should have laughter in her eyes, not pain. And she genuinely did seem to have some manner of affection for him. It was far, far more than he deserved, and he would be content with it if it killed him.

* * *

Word of Tauriel's release spread rapidly – first among the guard, then the servants, then the ordinary folk and nobility.

Perhaps it was strange, how such little news was devoured so voraciously, but nearly everyone, commoner and noble alike, had spent centuries trying to protect her from the King's madness. It had never been spoken of or agreed upon; it was simply what one did. If the King was going to be somewhere, you made sure Tauriel was not there, unless it absolutely could not be avoided.

Lady Silwen had little use for most commoners, and even less for Elves of any station who tried to catch the King's eye. Tauriel, however, had done nothing at all to gain his attention, and would not welcome it, should he ever be mad enough to actually _act_ on it. And so, commoner though she was, Silwen had done what she could to protect the poor girl, who was probably the only one in the whole kingdom who had no idea she needed to _be_ protected.

So she had been incredibly displeased to find all her efforts had been for naught, and even more displeased when she could find no solution at all. That displeasure turned to worry when it reached her ears that Tauriel had tried – and very nearly succeeded – to kill herself. It had made her fear the very worst of the King's actions.

If only the Prince had not left, the selfish child. None seemed to know the circumstances of his leaving, but if he had any sense at all, he would have taken Tauriel with him. Prince or not, when he returned, Silwen was going to give him a lecture he would not soon forget.

But now Tauriel was at liberty – and voluntarily returned to the King each night. It was possible that was simply one of the conditions of her release, but Silwen's maid, Amaniel, suspected something darker.

"She has changed, my lady," she said, as she brushed out Silwen's golden hair for the evening, "and she cannot see it. Something in her mind has been altered," she added, clearly choosing her words carefully, avoiding any actual blame to anyone.

Silwen met her maid's eyes in the dressing-table mirror. "Amaniel, I will be blunt: is the King doing anything dishonorable to her?"

Predictably, the girl's cheeks pinked. "Oddly, I do not think so," she said. "Huoriel has actually seen them together, and says there is nothing of that…nature…at all. And Tauriel has told her that, while he seemed quite mad up until very recently, he has always been chivalrous."

Well, _that_ was a relief. Imprisonment was bad enough, but imprisonment with coerced seduction was infinitely worse. At least the King was not Eöl.

"I will repeat this to no one," Silwen said, turning to face Amaniel, "so tell me, has there been any discussion of trying to spirit her away?"

"A great deal of it, my lady," the girl said, setting aside the brush, "and it has always come to the same conclusion: Tauriel would not willingly go. And if we were to get her away somehow against her will, she would return. I had thought perhaps he had laid some enchantment upon her, but Huoriel says captivity can do that to a person."

Well, this was a fine mess. She was going to wring the Prince's neck, and there would probably be a whole queue of people behind her, waiting to do the same. If the King was unwilling to truly release Tauriel, and Tauriel didn't want to _be_ released, Silwen did not know what they were going to do.

Actually, perhaps she did. The Lady of the Golden Wood had unrivaled mental powers – if anyone could sort those two out, it was her. Given that it was in the best interest of all the Elven realms to keep King Thranduil somewhat sane, she might be persuaded to help. On the morrow, Silwen would dispatch a messenger.

Perhaps this madness need not go on forever.

* * *

Tauriel's body was one massive ache by the time she went home for the evening. She had known she was out of condition, but it was far worse than she'd thought. It would take her months to get back to full stamina. All she wanted now was a good meal, a warm bath, and then perhaps ten hours of sleep.

Bless Thranduil, he had the first of those three wishes waiting when she arrived – roast pheasant, cheese, and toasted bread, along with, naturally, a large carafe of wine. Even yet, his tolerance for alcohol sometimes amazed her.

"You look weary," he said, taking her in from his seat in an armchair, but he was smiling when he said it.

"I _am_ weary," she said, kicking off her boots, "and that smells amazing."

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells," he said. "The cook seasoned it in the way you prefer."

She was a little disturbed that he _knew_ her preferences, though she was not at all surprised. After finding that unsettling folio of portraits, very little about his regard for her surprised her anymore. "I do not care if it tastes of sawdust," she said, all but collapsing into the other chair. "I need food and a very hot bath."

"I will rub your back, if you would like," Thranduil said, cutting into the pheasant and dishing some onto her plate.

By now, the offer did not unnerve her. "I just might," she said. "I'm in wretchedly poor condition. These next weeks will not be enjoyable." She stuck her fork into the pheasant almost before he had finished putting it on her plate.

"Do not be Falchon with your food," he scolded.

It took her a moment to work out what he meant, and then she burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the cup of wine he set beside her. "Poor Falchon," she said. "You are not the only one who mocks him, according to Menelwen's brother Istuion. He is apparently something of a laughingstock among the other nobles."

"I do not wonder why," Thranduil snorted. "He is like a weather-vane, except he sometimes fails to anticipate which way the wind will blow."

"I still think you ought to make him color his hair." Eru, the pheasant really _was_ delicious, seasoned with a combination of herbs and spices that made her want to devour it like she would have as a child. "Midsummer _is_ almost upon us."

"Will you go with me, Tauriel?"

She looked up at him. " _With_ you?"

"Yes, with me." The strange possessiveness in his eyes had risen, and Tauriel frowned.

"I will," she said, "if you promise me you will not snap at anyone who looks at us askance. Because many will. They believe me bewitched, though they will not say so to my face."

Thranduil arched an eyebrow. "They rather have that backward," he said. "You bewitched me, without meaning or trying to."

 _Yes, to my detriment_ , she thought, polishing off the rest of her pheasant. "Sooner or later they will work that out for themselves." She downed half her cup of wine at one go. "Yes, I will go with you, Thranduil, and you needn't look so smug about it." For smug he was, in his beautiful, marble-statue way. At least it subsumed the possessiveness that would never cease to unsettle her, no matter how oddly fond of him she was.

It always reminded her of the chain. And that made her angry, for he was looking at her with a depth of affection she wished she could return.

But such was life with Thranduil. Her time was spent either wanting to embrace him or kill him, but either way, she could not now imagine life without him.

She winced, and cracked her neck. Quite honestly, her soreness embarrassed her, though it was hardly her fault.

He arched an eyebrow again. "That was disgusting. Come, sit on the divan and take off your tunic. I will see what I can do about your aching back."

It was not really an improper request; she wore an undershirt beneath the tunic. And even if she hadn't, she'd taken enough baths with him to trust his intentions. Knowing his motives really were as pure as he believed them to be allowed her to enjoy how tactile he was, without needing to fear ulterior motive. For whatever blessed reason, he truly did not seem to have one.

And it really was a blessing, for, though Tauriel thought him beautiful, she had no carnal attraction to him – and, unlike many ellith and ellyn, never had. He was her King, and now he was her Thranduil, but she wanted nothing more than that. His near-constant caresses were pleasant, but they sparked not desire in her, so it was just as well he displayed none, either.

So it was without trepidation that she unlaced her tunic, struggling out of her sleeves and wincing again before she sat on the divan, head bowed, pleasantly relaxed by the wine and food.

Thranduil sat behind her, pushing her hair out of the way. His thumbs dug into her shoulders hard enough to be satisfying, but not hard enough to hurt, and it was all she could do not to groan. Somehow, he knew exactly when and where to massage, his long fingers tracing her spine. He pulled the neckline of her shirt down as far as it would go, massaging all along the edge of the collar with his fever-hot fingers. She still didn't know why he was so unnaturally warm, but it seemed he spoke the truth when he said he was always like that.

"If you ever tire of being a king, you would draw a fantastic trade doing this," she said, as he eased a particularly recalcitrant knot from her left shoulder.

His laugh was deep and rich. "You mean, if Falchon one day at last annoys me beyond reason?"

Tauriel smiled. "Or if you grow weary of having to untangle your crown from your hair every night. Do not think I haven't noticed. I find the shed hair all over the floor beneath the mantle."

"Wretched thing," he said, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, kneading her lower back. "One day I shall have no hair at all."

"Then you will have to order Falchon to shave his off, so that you might wear it as a wig. Though Menelwen says Istuion swears he bleaches it."

"He does," Thranduil said dryly, "and thinks none notice when his dark roots grow in between times."

Tauriel burst out laughing again. She had a sudden image of Falchon, who really was extremely attractive, sitting at his dressing-table with bleach stolen from the laundry on his roots, trying to achieve Thranduil's silvery locks. "I will never again be able to look at him without laughing," she complained.

"Feel free to laugh at him at Midsummer," he said. "Your light is so much brighter when you do."

She raised her head, and turned to look at him. "Thranduil, why do you call me your light?" she asked.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. "Because your fëa is so bright," he said, stroking the hair from her brow. "I need your light, Tauriel. I am surrounded by so much darkness."

The darkness, she knew by now, was all within his mind, but she had no idea how to make him see it. She was little more than a battlefield healer; the mental arts were entirely beyond her.

"Well, I am not going anywhere," she said. "But I cannot remain your only light forever, Thranduil. There are others to be found in the world, you know."

"I need no other," he said, tracing the line of her jaw with his index finger. That fey gleam in his eyes was back, completely focused upon her.

Tauriel wouldn't admit, even to herself, that some dark part of her _liked_ that focus. Thranduil might be unnerving and more than a little mad, but there was something deeply compelling about him, and having all that considerable energy focused on _her…_ well. She knew how completely wrong that was, hence her refusal to acknowledge it, but it was nevertheless there. It was not safe, it certainly was not sane, and yet…

And yet.

She was only now realizing how much power _she_ had over _him_. She knew how badly he needed her, or thought he needed her, and now that he was close to himself again, that same dark part of her recognized that she had the ability to utterly break him. Oh, she would never, ever do it, but it was obscurely comforting to know that she _could_. After so many months of powerlessness, it was good to finally have some back.

"I might be all you need now," she said, "but not always. We do live forever, after all."

Thranduil smiled, and it cracked her heart. It reminded her that she all too easily could have loved him, if not for the six months of her captivity.

If not for the chain.

He must have seen the shift in her own expression, however minute, for the smile faded, and he gathered her close. He said nothing, but she read his silent apology in the play of his fingers over her bare arm. Anymore, her pain always seemed to hurt him.

 _As it should_ , that dark place in her mind whispered. Thranduil of late had been so charming, so attentive, that it was sometimes easy to forget all he had put her through, less than a month ago. Eventual remembrance always infuriated her, if only briefly, and the shadow wanted to destroy him. She should never, ever have let him essentially get away with his behavior – oh, she'd punished him emotionally, once without even meaning to, but it was not nearly enough. He deserved to be destroyed, yet she could not bring herself to do it. Not when he looked at her with such simple, guileless affection, like she was the sum of all that was good in the world.

She was Aredhel. And yet most of her did not care. Aredhel had left behind an entire family who loved her, and had not wish her to depart, but Tauriel's family had been dead so long she scarcely remembered them. None but Thranduil loved her, or thought they did. Which was pathetic, but it was the truth.

And while she might be Aredhel, he was most definitely not Eöl, for all the torment she had endured that Aredhel had not. Eöl was motivated by lust, but Thranduil loved her, though it had been horrifically destructive love. It was what she had, and it was enough.

So she shut her eyes, and let his fingers play so tenderly along her arm. It wasn't perfect – it wasn't healthy – it did not even have a definition, but it was all she had, and all she would likely ever have, for her heart had been buried with Kili. Thranduil did not answer, but she had not expected it to.

Midsummer was in two days. Tauriel would go with him, and they would see what would happen.

* * *

Tauriel, you don't even know how unhealthy you two really are, or that you're still such a mess. You know your relationship, if it can even be called that, is seriously messed up when you both have some faint, lurking desire to either isolate or destroy each other, respectively.


	8. Impression

Thranduil's madness is catching, and he does not even know it yet. Tauriel does, and doesn't care.

* * *

Tauriel had not realized that Thranduil intended to give her a new dress for the Midsummer feast, and put her foot down on it, hard.

"I have a perfectly good formal dress," she said, exasperated, "and I have no desire to spend half a day poked and prodded by seamstresses, who will then have to be up all night to make the thing. There is no point putting them to so much trouble over something I do not want, and will have little occasion to wear."

"Very well," he said, irritated, though he stroked the side of her face anyway. "But someday you will have a new one. Something to match all this hair." He ran his fingers through her fiery tresses.

"If you really insist," she said, knowing that, while she might have one this battle, it was a war she would ultimately lose. Thus far he had been wise enough not to shower her with useless gifts – the only material things he had given her were a dressing-gown that actually fit, and a truly beautiful bow. In other words, things she could use and appreciate.

He also let her off attending to the last-minute preparations for the feast, since she would have had no idea what she was doing, and did not care to learn. She had her job, and he had his, and only rarely did they intersect. Thank Eru, he seemed to realize it, too.

So while he was busy, she wandered down to the archery range, eater to test her new bow. It was by far the finest weapon she had ever known, perfectly sized to her, the draw just the right weight.

The range was outside, under the open sunshine, and she shut her eyes a moment to bask in it. Never, ever would she take the light and warmth of it for granted again. It was early enough that dew still lingered on the grass and leaves, glittering like millions of tiny prisms.

It was also early enough that few people were about – only Faelon and Sadronniel had beaten her here. Both were still warming up, stretching sleepy limbs.

They exchanged a glance when they saw her, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. How long would it take them to realize that she was not, in fact, mad? That she had never actually forgotten how dangerous Thranduil was? No matter how charming he could be, she had seen him at, if not his worst, at least perilously close to it. She had not forgotten, nor had she particularly forgiven. That did not change the fact that she had grown fond of the better parts of his personality – the Thranduil she had recently come to know. He was not some complete monster, and she was no more a helpless victim.

"Are you going to shoot, or will you merely stare at one another all morning?" she called, and they both gave a guilty start.

Faelon, tall and golden-haired, offered her a rueful smile. "We are still unused to seeing you at liberty," he said.

"Well, get used to it," she snorted. "I wish you would all stop looking at me as though I were going to vanish in a puff of smoke if you sneezed in my direction."

Sadronniel laughed, though it was a trifle forced. "You will have to forgive us, for now," she said.

"I will – for now. I grow very weary of the stares. And the whispering." Tauriel had no idea how long it would take for it all to die down, but hopefully it would be sooner rather than later. Though she highly doubted it.

"Where did you get your bow?" Faelon asked, very obviously trying to change the subject.

"It was a gift," she said, testing the draw. She would not mention from _whom_ , lest the staring set off all over again. Doubtless they would figure it out on their own anyway. "I thought I would test it."

She drew an arrow and took her stance, resting it on her left forefinger. Drawing the string was an absolute pleasure, and it was so soft where it kissed her cheek. She let out a slow breath before she released, and she grinned when the arrow flew.

The bow practically did the work for her, the arrow striking true at the exact center of the target and right through the back. The damage this could do to an orc…what she had to do now was convince Thranduil to let her back into the Guard, even as an auxiliary. Not that _that_ was likely to happen any time soon. Baby steps, as the Edain might say.

"That is a truly fantastic weapon," Sadronniel said, approaching, her dark eyes almost covetous.

"I almost feel I need no skill to use it," Tauriel said. "I wish I had had such a bow when first I began training."

"I wish I had such a bow _now_ ," Faelon said, eying it with something close to reverence. "I think it might be finer than the Prince's."

"I doubt _that_ ," Tauriel said, though she looking at it, and remembering Legolas's, she thought Faelon might be right. "I hope it means I can soon go properly back to work." Surely Thranduil would not give her such a weapon if he did not intend her to _use_ it.

 _He might_ , she thought. _He is still not precisely sane._ She had yet to find an accurate way to gauge his madness on any given day. Especially as he seemed to take great care now not to show it to her. Now that she knew the look in his eyes for what it was, and realized that it had always been there, she knew that trying to guess his mind was an exercise in frustration.

Faelon and Sadronniel exchanged another of the looks Tauriel was growing far too used to seeing, and finally, she snapped.

"Will you _stop_ ," she said. "All of you. You look at me as though you think I am either mad or enchanted. Do you think I do not realize that Thranduil is still dangerous? That I am oblivious to the threat he could still pose to me, if he chose?"

"If you know this," Sadronniel said carefully, "why do you stay with him?"

"Because I _want_ to. He has shown me a side of him I think very few have ever known of, let alone have ever witnessed. And he has never, even in the very height of his madness, so much as raised a finger to me. Yes, he _could_ hurt me if he wished, but I could hurt him, too." Not physically – even in top condition, he was the superior warrior – but the was so very emotionally dependent on her. And a broken mind was far worse than a broken bone.

"He has no one else," she added, "and neither do I, really." The Prince was gone, and each decade, more and more of her friends married and had families of their own. Both she and Thranduil, however, had lost their loves – his to Mandos, and hers forever. Thranduil believed that he loved her, but even if he did in truth, it was not the manner in which he loved the Queen. He was not as Finwë, as an Edain, replacing one wife with another after the death of the first.

What did she get from it, aside from peril and charm in equal measure? Companionship, and affection without the expectation of love or carnal intimacy. Her capacity for both was buried within Erebor. No matter how many kisses and caresses Thranduil gave her – and they were nearly constant – even now, there was no desire for anything more. Being with her as he was wasn't any betrayal to his Queen, or was Tauriel betraying Kili. Or so she told herself.

"We cannot help but worry for you, Tauriel," Faelon said. "Not only because of the King. Your other loss…is a worry as well."

"Kili," she said. "His name was Kili, and yes, still I grieve him. No, I will not Fade. No, Thranduil has not somehow used that against me. He understands such loss all too well."

At that, both of them looked distinctly guilty. Faelon had not been alive, and Sadronniel had been very young when the Queen died, but her absence was nevertheless keenly felt. "We will try not to worry, Tauriel," Faelon said, though his tone was dubious. Still, she could ask little more.

"Try hard," she said firmly. "Meanwhile, let us see if m aim with this bow was a fluke or not."

* * *

The Feast of Midsummer was held not within the halls, but out in the forest itself – the safer areas near the caverns, with plenty of guards to watch for spiders.

It began when the rays of the late afternoon sun still pieced the leaves, and ran until dawn. All who lived near enough came, eating and dancing and drinking (prodigiously) until the sun rose.

Long tables were set out among the tress, laden with food and strewn with garlands of wildflowers, blue and pink and white. Lanterns were strung among the trees, casting all in a golden glow when the sun went down, and the minstrels, who had been practically for this day for months, set up near the clearing meant for dancing.

Normally it was a festive occasion, but this year the pall of the King's madness hung over the proceedings. It was true that in the last weeks he had seemed much more himself, but he had spent the preceding six months keeping one of his own subjects captive in his rooms, doing Eru knew what to her. Even those who lived far from the halls, and did not know who Tauriel was, had heard the story, and came to the feast half out of curiosity, and half out of fear.

Most were relieved – if bewildered – when the King swept into the trees looking perfectly stable, resplendent in robes of black and silver. That relief did not last, however, when the identity of the young, red-haired elleth on his arm reached their ears: Tauriel. His former prisoner, only recently released.

Her own gown was simple, too simple to have been gifted to her by him, made of forest-green velvet with little in the way of embroidery or other ornamentation. The dagged sleeves meant that those nearest her could see the long, vicious scars that ran the entire length of her forearms.

"She tried to kill herself, you know," someone whispered. "Twice. It was only after the second attempt that he released her, yet she returns to him each night anyway."

Looking at him now, seated with Tauriel in the spot usually occupied by the Prince, it was difficult to imagine him in the role of captor. Indeed, he seemed more open and relaxed than many had ever seen him – rather like an ellon in the first flush of new love. It was only when one looked closer, and saw what lurked n his eyes, that it became chilling.

Not that that was easy to do, for they rarely left Tauriel, though hers wandered often. She seemed content, and smiled a great deal, but, though she clearly had some affection for the King, it was not love that lingered in her gaze. Unsettlingly, a dim echo of his possessiveness lay within her eyes, as well as no small amount of resignation.

This was not what the outer-dwellers had feared. It was far more disturbing.

Some lord or other walked by, and when the King leaned over to whisper something in Tauriel's ear, she burst out laughing. Yes, she was content, at least, and did not appear to have been coerced at all. There was _that_ to be grateful for, if nothing else. What none seemed to be able to settle on which was more mad: the King, for imprisoning Tauriel, or Tauriel, for staying once she was released.

* * *

Tauriel was not at all used to the vintage of Dorwinion served at Midsummer, and it was not long at all before she was completely tipsy, and quite at one with the world. She still managed to comport herself well enough, however, until Lord Falchon passed, and Thranduil leaned over to whisper, "Look at his hair" in her ear.

Look she did, and burst out laughing. It was scarcely visible in the light of the sunset, but his roots were indeed as dark as Huoriel's, quite at odds with the rest of his silver-blond tresses. Tauriel had always thought his hair so like Thranduil's that they could be relatives; knowing that it was artificial just made it too amusing for words. Especially as she always _had_ thought Falchon a little too aware of his own beauty.

"How can he think no one notices?" she asked behind her hand, still giggling.

"I have wondered that for the last three hundred years," Thranduil said. He was smiling at her in the way that made her heart ache – open, unguarded, unreservedly happy, and, with the paradoxical clarity of alcohol, she knew that she never wanted to release him, either. He all too often that he reminded her that she was his, whether in word or deed, but he was just as much hers.

And no one would take him from her. Ever.

This side of him, so amusing and so close to carefree, belonged to her, and her alone. She realized, with an even sharper flash of clarity, that she needed no chain to bind him to her. He had forged his own shackles, no weaker for being intangible.

He would never leave her. So long as there was breath in his body, he would never, ever leave. And should he be foolish enough to try, for whatever reason, she would not let him.

 _My Thranduil_ , she thought, taking his hand – as ever, it was unnaturally warm, so much larger than her own. _Mine._

* * *

Celebdor was not happy.

Lady Silwen had dispatched him at first light, ordering him to journey to Lothlórien to tell Lady Galadriel of the current mess in the Woodland Realm. Should he, through luck or chance, find Prince Legolas, he was to, in the Lady's words, "send that thoughtless brat home at once."

So Celebdor rode all through the day, hurrying through the forest, eager to put distance between him and the halls, and trying to resign himself to the fact that he could likely never return home. And he was oh so very worried.

What did not seem to have occurred to Lady Selwin, and what had not been his place to bring up, was that the King would be highly resistant to outside interference – especially from Lady Galadriel, of whom everyone knew he was not fond.

Celebdor also doubted that even she could right the King's madness, as it had been a part of him for so very long. She could probably cure _Tauriel_ , but that would simply create a whole new mess. He didn't want to know _what_ the King would do, if forcibly parted from her, but he knew it would not be good.

Personally, Celebdor didn't really see what the problem was now. Obviously it had been wrong when the King actively held Tauriel captive, but she fared as she would now, and by all accounts he was easier to deal with than he had been in centuries. Everyone who actually _knew_ the air insisted there was nothing actually _dishonorable_ going on, so really, why was it anyone's business?

But Celebdor's mistress had set him a task, and he would complete it. He would not, however, hurry along his way.

* * *

The King and Tauriel opened the dancing, and, if one could ignore the rather possessive way they held each other, they made a truly fine pair.

Perhaps, some of the woodlanders thought, this was not so bad after all. No one was actually being _harmed_ , were they? And those who lived within the halls took pains to assure those who did not that that the pair's relationship was chaste. And that, really, could be read in their eyes, tucked among the more unsettling things: for all the obsession in the King's eyes, there was no desire, nor was there any to be found in Tauriel's. Whatever odd bond they had, it was spiritual, not carnal. Certainly the King touched her far more often than was seemly, but it was always innocent.

No, perhaps this was not such a terrible thing. It could be a great deal worse.

* * *

Thranduil wondered now why he had been so afraid to allow Tauriel her liberty. He was immensely enjoying showing her off. Her face was flushed, her green eyes shining, her hair like a river of flame as he whirled her around the dance floor.

That said, after this, he wanted to lock them both away for the next three days.

He was almost unsettled by the strange new light in her eyes, though he did not at all mind the way she gripped him. There was something oddly familiar in it, though after all the wine he had consumed, he had no hope of placing it. It was enough that she smiled – that she seemed, for now, close to happy. Later – probably much later – they would lie together, either to talk to or to sleep, and he would wake with her in his arms. Just now, he could want for nothing more in the world.

When the dance ended, he kissed her brow, and led her back to their tables.

Yes, all was well. And it would remain well, no matter what he had to do to ensure it.

* * *

Tauriel woke the next morning feeling absolutely wretched. Her mouth tasted as though something had died in it, and her head felt ready to split open and leak her brain out all over this wonderfully soft pillow.

Behind her, Thranduil shifted. "Sit up," he said, "and drink this. You will feel much better."

Sit she did, not daring to open her eyes for fear of what the light might do to her pounding head. Thranduil pressed a cool glass of something that smelled of vanilla against her lips, and she took an experimental sip. It tasted more like cinnamon than vanilla, but after a few more swallows, the pain in her head and ache in her muscles eased.

When she'd finished the glass, she lay down again, head pillowed on his chest. "Remind me to never, ever drink that much again," she groaned.

His rumbling laugh vibrated beneath her cheek. "I had not wanted to say anything, but you did _me_ proud last night," he said, still stroking her hair.

"Next time, say something," she said fervently. " _Please_."

"I will try to remember. Provided I am not too intoxicated myself."

"In that case, you will never remember," she said, wrapping her arm around him. "I am doomed."

"Then we must simply stay abide. Eru knows everyone else would be."

It sounded like a better plan than any other she could come up with. "Have you given any thought to what I said about Bard?" she asked, listening to the comforting beat of his heart.

"Yes, actually," Thranduil said, twining his fingers in her hair. "I am contemplating inviting him here, when he has things under control in Dale for the summer. I know his children are curious about us, especially his youngest."

"We ought to send him some workers. I know we aided them in surviving the winter – Huoriel told me so – but so many of them died between the battle and the dragon that they need all the aid they can get."

"True. Why are you so thoughtful, Tauriel?"

 _Because I am not a fool._ Really, _anyone_ could have thought of that, and probably had. Who knew what the Council had been doing during his madness? Not her, and probably not Thranduil, either. Thank Eru he was paying attention now.

"I've thought of something else, too: what in Elbereth's name are we going to say when Legolas returns? He will…not approve." Not after he'd apparently spent so long trying to protect her from his father.

Then again, she did not intend to give him the chance to _say_ anything. The situation might have improved, but she still owed him a blow to the face for her six-month imprisonment. He could disapprove all he liked – it was his fault.

Still, she couldn't regret what had come of it, however dangerous and unhealthy it was. She was finding she no longer cared much about either. Thranduil was as much in her grasp as she was in his, whether he realized it or not. He probably didn't, yet.

"He can disapprove all he likes," Thranduil said, drawing her closer. "There is nothing he can do about it. I will not let him."

"Nor will I." Six months ago, Tauriel would have run and never looked back. Even a fortnight ago she might have, though she would have grieved all that might have been, but now…now she _had_ something, some _one_ , who seemed to near worship the ground she walked upon. Thranduil believed that he loved her, and believed it wholeheartedly.

She was glad Thranduil had no senses to come to. For if he had, and if he did, he would find her very difficult to dislodge.

Perhaps he would be the one wearing the chain.

* * *

Congrats, Thranduil. Tauriel's not just broken, she's as crazy as you are. Well done.

Why are some of the Elves trying to normalize this? Because it happens _all the time_ in real life. Seriously, 'it could be worse' is one of the most dangerous phrases in the English language (unless, like Nanny Ogg, you qualify it with 'there could be snakes', because snakes do indeed make everything worse.)


	9. Repossession

In which Thranduil's sanity surfaces for air, Legolas is finally clued in, and Tauriel nearly does something very stupid with the best of intentions.

* * *

After the feast, the King and Tauriel were more often seen together. Each had their own daily tasks, and saw to them faithfully, but most afternoons they would wander the halls or grounds, arm in arm. It became more and more obvious that his unhealthy obsession was beginning to be matched.

It was unnerving, but the longer it went on, more people began to simply accept it. Lady Silwen was both horrified and infuriated to find that her husband was one of them.

" _How_ can you condone this?" she raged, glaring at him across the bed. And she had been so ready to retire for the night in peace.

Arphenion shook his head, unbuttoning his tunic. His dark hair fell down his back in a smooth wave, and she wanted to tear it out. "The King is much easier to deal with now," he said. "He has not flown into a rage in weeks. Tauriel seems content enough – indeed, if someone tried to separate them now, she would object as strenuously as he. You should never have sent Celebdor to Lothlórien," he added, folding the garment and draping it over the back of an armchair. "Lady Galadriel's interference will not end well."

Silwen stared at him, speechless. " _How_ can you say that?"

"Either she will fail, and risk outright war, or she will succeed, and destroy them both. Have you given no thought at all to what might happen to Tauriel? The King is older, and has endured more loss – and, most importantly, has his son. Tauriel has no one, and if the guards are to believed, fell in love with a _Dwarf_ who is now dead. What she has with the King might not be anything healthy, but it is _something_. Take it away and she has nothing – and with nothing, she may well Fade."

Silwen…had not thought of that, though she should have. She had heard of Tauriel's Dwarf through Amaniel, though she had not really thought it serious. If he truly had been her One, she would never find some nice ellon among the guards, which had been Silwen's hope. That she would go about her life as a guard again, and everyone would go about theirs without worrying over her.

Well. There was nothing to be done about it _now_. "What will happen, will happen," she said, climbing into bed. "You never know – perhaps the Lady maybe be able to turn this into something a bit more…healthy." Though Silwen highly doubted that. She could see no way this would not end in tragedy.

* * *

Celebdor had been enjoying his amble through the sunshine, as he had for the last three weeks, when he spotted a group on foot in the distance. Edain, by the look of them, clad as Rangers – and with them, thank Eru, was Prince Legolas.

Perhaps Celebdor would not be the messenger to get shot after all.

He spurred his horse, hailing them as he rode, and inwardly winced when he saw the open curiosity in the Prince's face. Lady Silwen had given him strict instructions on what to do if he saw the wayward royal, and quite frankly, he was more afraid of her than the Prince.

"Celebdor," Legolas said, obviously pleased as well as curious. "What brings you so far from home?"

Celebdor winced when he dismounted. "I apologize in advance, my lord, but I am under orders from my Lady. What I am to say comes from her mouth, not my own."

He hauled back and punched the Prince as hard as he could, the force so considerable it actually made Legolas stagger backward. "I quote, 'You little brat, how could you be stupid enough to run off and leave Tauriel to your father's dubious mercy. Come home at once, and expect multiple beatings when you do.' I am sorry, my lord, but I don t want to think about what my Lady would do, should I disobey."

The fury in the Prince's face died instantly, and all the color drained from it. "Tauriel?" he whispered. " _My father_ has Tauriel? _How?_ "

"She came back with us after the battle," Celebdor said wretchedly. "The King locked her in his rooms for six months. Now she is at liberty, but returns to him of her own volition at the end of each day. She is…changed."

"But…she was banished," Legolas said faintly. "I thought…"

"You thought _what_ , my Prince?" Celebdor demanded, his ire rising. "Where else was she to go? The ruin of Dale? _Erebor?_ Did you _really_ think your father would not take advantage of your absence? Tauriel tried to kill herself – and very nearly succeeded, according to the healers – and now, somehow, she seems content with…whatever it is she has with your father. It is not…carnal…but I believe – we _all_ believe – that only makes it more insidious. Lady Silwen thinks you need to come home, but frankly, at this point, I do not know how much good it will do. She dispatched me to speak with Lady Galadriel, but I am unsure how much even _she_ could help."

By now Legolas looked beyond sick with guilt, but Celebdor could find little sympathy for him. _Everyone_ blamed this on his absence, for he had, like all of them, been well aware of the King's obsession with Tauriel. And _now_ look where they were.

Legolas cast a stricken look at one of the Rangers – a young man with shaggy dark hair and unusually piercing grey eyes. "Strider, I must go."

"We will _all_ go," the man said firmly.

"I think that unwise," Celebdor said. "The King will not harm the Prince because he is the Prince. I do not know what he would do to the rest of you, and I do not wish to find out. Where Tauriel is concerned, he is…not reasonable."

"Celebdor is right," Legolas said. "Do not send for Lady Galadriel yet. I would rather others not know about this, unless we have no other choice."

"Yes, my Prince," Celebdor said, incredibly relieved. "Take my horse. You will be faster without me."

Legolas leapt up onto the mare, and urged her as fast as she would go, pale hair streaming in the wind.

"How bad is it?" the man – Strider – asked.

"Likely irreparable," Celebdor sighed. "Certainly on the King's side, but possibly on Tauriel's as well. I do not think she loves him, but she feels _something_ for him, and we have all known for weeks that she would not willingly part from him. Otherwise we would have spirited her away as soon as she was released. Lady Galadriel could likely heal her, but getting her to Lothlórien would be impossible. There is not a one of us Tauriel cannot best in combat, but the Prince is right – news of this should not get out, so I will thank you all to keep this to yourself for now."

He sighed. "I still do not know how the Prince could be stupid enough to leave her. She truly had nowhere else to go, and she was sick with grief. She could not have been easier prey, and the King is nothing if not a predator where she is concerned."

"What will happen, if you separate them?" Strider asked, his eyes grave.

Celebdor sighed again. "In truth, I do not know. The King is already mad, in a sense, but Tauriel…she has no family. She has lost her love. I think she is so content with the King because she has nothing else."

"Then find her something," the man said firmly, "or she will never leave him. If there is nothing else for her to want, she will not give up the only thing she has."

 _Find what?_ Celebdor wondered. Her heart was buried within Erebor, and resuming her post as captain would not be enough. "Even if we do find something – even if we somehow break the King's hold on her mind – he would never let her go. She would have to leave the Woodland Realm, and that she would not do. She might have nothing else here, but it is her home. It is all she has ever known. Should she be taken to Lothlórien or Imladris, she would have to be imprisoned there, for she would not stay. I can see no way at all for this to end well."

"Nor I," Strider said grimly.

* * *

Legolas rode as though all the werewolves of Morgoth pursued him.

 _How_ could he have been so stupid? He had avoided all thought of Tauriel since the battle, for it was too painful, and look what had come of it. Celebdor was right – where else had she to go? Nowhere at all. Bard would have welcomed her, had she actually _asked_ , but she would have been too mired in grief to think of it. She really had been perfect prey for his father, and he should have seen it. He should have _thought_ , thought of something beyond his own desire for escape.

He had escaped, and she had been imprisoned. And he did not think he would ever forgive himself, no matter how this ended.

* * *

Tauriel's day had been long, and she was more than glad to meet up with Thranduil – and his wine – at the end of it.

"The new recruits are afraid of me," she complained, shedding both boots and tunic before joining him on the divan, "and I have no idea why. I have not done anything exceptionally violent lately."

"Well, you _did_ threaten to kill me, not so long ago," he said dryly, handing her a glass of wine. From the shine in his eyes, he had had more than one himself already.

She snorted. "I did no such thing, and you know it," she said, taking the glass as she sat on the divan, legs tucked under her. "And even if I had in truth, I _live_ with you. Clearly, I have not held a grudge."

"Yes, well, you should have," he said, drawing her close, nearly spilling her wine in the process. "No doubt they question your sanity."

 _That_ she could well believe. "Why can no one understand that we are content?" she grumbled, sipping her wine. The burn of it was welcome in her throat.

"Because by all rights, we should not be," Thranduil said, stroking her hair. "By all rights, you ought to have murdered me in my sleep by now."

"That would be messy," Tauriel said, downing half her glass at one go before tucking her head beneath his chin. "And no fun at all. Who would mock Lord Falchon with me, and rub my back at the end of a long day?"

"There might be many," he said, wrapping his left arm around her with blatant possessiveness.

"Well, I do not _want_ many," she said, setting aside her wine so she could return the embrace, just as possessively. "You are _my_ Thranduil, and I will accept no substitutes."

"Perhaps we are both as made as most believe us to be," he said, walking his fingers up her spine.

She shivered. "Perhaps we are," she said, absently playing with a lock of silky, silvery hair. "I find I care less and less." She paused. "You cannot leave me, Thranduil," she said. "I do not care who tries to talk you to your senses, to make you believe I would be better off without you. I will never leave you, but you can also never, _ever_ leave me."

He sat her up so he could look her at her, and while there was indulgence in his eyes, there was also a trace of worry. "Where is this coming from?"

"Sooner or later, Legolas will come home, and he will try to divide us," Tauriel said. "He will play on both our insecurities with the best of intentions, and we cannot let him succeed. You must promise me that no matter what he says, you will not leave me, or send me away."

She laid both her hands on Thranduil's shoulders, shoving him further backward onto the divan, upending his wine. "You took everything from me, Thranduil," she said, staring down into his eyes. "You will not take away all I have acquired in return. You. Will. _Not_." She couldn't bear it if everything she had gained from her captivity was stripped from her. Should it be taken, only the captivity and her grief would remain. She did not know what she would do then, and she didn't want to find out.

Thranduil stared at her a long moment, searching her face. He didn't answer – instead, he pulled her down and kissed her.

It was a chaste kiss, soft and sweet, not lingering long, but there was a depthless well of emotion, of _need_ not physical but spiritual. "I promise you, Tauriel," he said, his breath a warm ghost against her lips, "nothing will take me from you, or you from me."

It – and more importantly, the honestly in it – was what she needed to hear. She kissed him, just as light, just as chaste, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Good," she said, stroking the line of his jaw. "If I lost you, I would die." She was not exaggerating, either; returning to her old life now would never be enough. It was twisted, it was _wrong_ , and she did not care. She might not – _could not_ – love Thranduil, but she _needed_ him like she needed air. How strange that not so long ago she had felt suffocated by him, yet now she would suffocate without him. At least she knew that the same would happen to him, without her.

"Neither of us will lose the other," he said, stroking her shoulder. "I would kill any but Legolas who tried to separate me from you."

"No other would be so foolish. They will grow accustomed to this, in time."

"They had better," Thranduil said, wrapping his arms around her. "They have no other choice."

* * *

Thranduil woke the next morning with a terrible sense of foreboding.

Tauriel, worn out from training, was still asleep, curled against his side. He had a horrible urge to lock her away, safe, because he had a premonition that something dreadful would happen this day.

 _You cannot_ , he told himself, tucking her hair behind her ear. He no longer had any fear at all that she would leave him, but he was quite certain something was about to try to take her from him.

Well. It would not get the chance yet. She didn't wake when he kissed her temple, which was just as well. He had to think, and he did not need interruption.

He went to run himself a bath, and debated a glance of breakfast wine. His clarity of thought was not welcome.

Tauriel's possessiveness was wholly unlike her – unlike her, and unhealthy. Even he could not deny that. He had…had _infected_ her, filled her with his own poison. She was as desperate now as he.

But what could he do? Even if he could bring himself to part with her – which he knew he could not – doing so would destroy her. She needed him now as much as he needed her, and it was all his fault.

He sank into the hot water, turning the problem over in his mind. He could not leave her, for her sake now as well as his. And even if he somehow… _cured_ her, she would be left bereft.

They both needed a cure. They needed a chance to do this properly, without madness or imprisonment, but he had no idea how to go about it. He had been this way for so long that he did not know if he could _be_ cured. Should her curse be broken, should she be made whole and leave him, still he would want her, and that would drive him mad beyond repair. And Tauriel…Tauriel had been broken even before he locked her up. Neither had been anything like whole going into this.

Somehow, he thought, leaning back against the side of the tub and shutting his eyes, they needed help. But he could not seek it without informing Tauriel – he could not make her think he in any way wanted to be parted from her. There would be no truly starting over, not after all that he had done, but surely there had to be _some_ way of dealing with this that would not destroy one or both of them.

Thranduil wanted Tauriel. _Needed_ her. Their fëa were entwined now – there would be no real separation, no matter who anyone did or did not want. But last night he had finally recognized the look in her eyes – and he ought to have sooner, given that he saw it in his own mirror every day.

He had changed Tauriel, all unknowing. The combination of grief and captivity had made her malleable in ways she never would have been otherwise, and his madness truly had poisoned her. And however selfish he was, however desperate his need for her, he could not let that go on.

The trick would be convincing her of that. It was a realization he had been forced to come to on his own, and she was every bit as stubborn as he. She would not want to hear it – would read it as him seeking some way to rid himself of her – but she could not go on like this. _They_ could not. Somehow, he needed to convince her that he in no way wished to part from her before seeking help.

Not that he knew how to see it to begin with. He _did not_ want anyone outside his kingdom to know of this, but he did not know if even the best of his healers would be up to such a monumental task.

It was a problem he would have to meditate on, and meanwhile, hope his vague fears were unfounded.

* * *

It was rare that Tauriel overslept, but she had this morning. Unsurprisingly, Thranduil had already left for the day, though he had left a covered try of breakfast by the fire to keep warm. She took it outside, to eat in the morning sunshine, and wondered just what she was really doing.

Was she manipulating Thranduil's feelings for her? Probably. The bigger question was, what did _she_ truly feel for _him_?

She wanted to love him, wanted to be _able_ to love him, but always, always there was the memory of the chain. Strange, how that in particular stuck with her, when there had been so much else. The chain hadn't even been on for very long, but it never should have been used at all. None of this should have happened.

 _You should not stay_ , she thought, for the hundredth time. _You should not be Aredhel._ Why _did_ she stay, really? Was it purely for companionship, or did she, in some warped, unhealthy way, love Thranduil? If she did…she was in trouble.

A _lot_ of trouble. And possibly, so was he.

No matter what he felt for her, he _was_ already married, and while they hadn't violated his promise to his wife, they were definitely skirting the line. What they had was not physical, so he was not technically a bigamist in the eyes of the Valar, but still. As long as it was not truly love – as long as it was twisted infatuation on his part, and a craving for companionship on hers – they were safe. But had things not played out this way – had he approached her normally, and earned her love in truth – they would still have had a very big problem.

Re-marriage among Elves was not unheard-of, but it was _extremely_ rare, because it required the first spouse being willing to remain in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time – or, in darker cases, Mandos being unwilling to let them out again. Aredhel herself, should she be re-born, would not have had to worry about Eöl ever finding her again, because after Eöl's crimes, there was no way Mandos would ever be persuaded to release him. He and Fëanor would be reduced to playing cards in a corner until the end of the world.

But the Queen would surely choose to be reborn, sooner or later. Her death had been terrible and violent, by all accounts, but her fëa would heal under Mandos's keeping, and she would not be happy to find her husband had taken a…a spiritual wife, if not a carnal one. And if Thranduil and Tauriel did truly love one another – even if only his love was real – he had already done just that.

She should leave. She should not give the poor Queen more cause for weeping than she already had, but she had not been exaggerating when she told Thranduil she would die without him now. And that was as cruel of him to her as it was to the Queen.

It was with a heavy heart that she rose, and took her barely-touched breakfast inside.

She should not stay with Thranduil, but neither could she endure the long, slow process of Fading from her heartbreak without him. He was far older than her, and had Legolas to live for; she had nothing to halt her Fading.

Horrible as it was, she knew what she had to do. She had to save the Queen's heart, and had to save Thranduil from himself.

At least this time she would leave him a note.

* * *

Thranduil's sense of foreboding dread had grown all morning, formless though it remained. By the time his Council meeting ended, (at which Lord Falchon had droned on and on), he had an irresistible urge to return to his rooms. Something had gone very, very wrong, or was about to.

He hurried as fast as he could without actually running, ignoring the startled looks of all he passed, and by the time he reached his rooms, his dread had morphed into outright terror. And when he burst through the door, he saw why.

Tauriel sat on the floor, that thrice-damned letter opener in her right hand, the tip rested on her left wrist. A tiny bead of blood had welled up around it, and the memory of her lying in a pool of it, her arms torn open, hit him with the force of a meteor.

No words could he find – instead he all but flew to her, snatching her right arm with a force that would bruise later. He cut his own hand when he wrenched the thing from hers, flinging it into the fireplace.

She turned her tearstained face to his. "Why did you do that?" she asked dully.

Thranduil gathered her close, so close it must have hurt. "Tauriel, Tauriel, what have I done now?"

" _You_ did nothing," she said, her voice muffled when she pressed her face against his shoulder, "except fall in love with me. You are _married_ , Thranduil, whether your wife be in Valinor or Mandos's keeping. We cannot do this to your wife, no matter how long your lives have been sundered."

 _Oh, Tauriel_. He had not wanted to say this – had never, ever wanted to _show_ her this – but it seemed he had no choice. "Tauriel, have you never stopped to wonder how it is that I could love again at all? Why I have grieved my wife so terribly all these centuries, when I should have resigned myself to the knowledge that I would one day see her again in Valinor?"

She shook her head.

"Tauriel, what I will show you will disturb you," he said, "but you must see it, if you are to understand. Look at me." His embrace eased enough to allow her to lean back, but for a moment she didn't move.

When she finally did, her eyes were still bright with tears. Letting the glamor fall so that she might see his face was one of the hardest things he had ever done – physically as well as mentally, for by now it was so ingrained that it was part of him now, dropped only by strength of will.

Her eyes widened, but she did not recoil, as he had feared she would. "How…?"

"There is a reason I did not aid the Dwarves, when Erebor fell," he said, easing the glamor back into place. "I know all too much of dragonfire."

"But…Eldar heal," she said. "Never have I heard of such a wound lasting beyond a century."

"Dragonfire is a strange thing," he said, stroking her tears from her face with his thumbs. "My face wad damaged beyond repair – and so was my wife's fëa. She rests comfortably in Mandos's Halls, but her fëa is…dormant. It will never recover, or even wake. Her hröa was consumed utterly, but while a fëa can never truly be destroyed, it can be crippled beyond hope of healing. She is truly lost to me forever."

"How can you know this?" Tauriel asked.

"Because Mandos told me so, after I had cursed his name one too many times," Thranduil said, a little dryly in spite of his grief. "He told me I must move on, but I damaged that, as I damage all that I touch."

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, reaching up, her fingers hovering just over his skin.

He rested his cheek on her hand. "Not when you are near. We are broken, Tauriel, the both of us, and your breaking is entirely my fault, but I would keep you forever, if you would have me – but we cannot go on as we are."

"But we cannot fix each other," she said, tracing her fingers over his face. "Your madness is what made you love me. What if your love dies with it? Where will that leave me?"

 _Destroyed_ , he thought, _utterly._ "I could never stop loving you, Tauriel," he said. "You were one-half of my everything long before this obsession started, however loath I was to admit it. I knew it was wrong even then, for you were so young, and I so very, very damaged."

"I wish you had said something then," she said, leaning against him and wrapping her arms around him, head rested on his shoulder, "and spared us…this. Thranduil, what do we do, if we cannot be…cured? I was not jesting when I said I would die without you."

"Did you really think I would not follow you to Mandos, had I arrived to find you dead?" he asked, stroking her hair. "I do not know what will happen if no cure can be found – only that I could never part with you, whether either of us wished it or not. If by the Valar we are doomed to remain as we are, mad we will remain together."

He did not want to summon Galadriel. He absolutely _did not_ want to do it, because he would much rather none outside his kingdom know of this, but she might well be the only one who could fix them.

And if she could not…he did not know. Whatever happened, they were too close now to be sundered. What they had with one another was warped and unhealthy, but there was no breaking it now.

"Promise me you will not do that again," he said, when she gave no answer. "Whatever comes, death is not the answer for either of us. I am mad and dangerous, and even now you are not safe with me, but I love you."

"You are not exactly safe with me, either," she admitted. "I have thought of the chain. And not of its use on me."

 _That_ …was truly disturbing. Tauriel was further gone that he had thought. Thranduil hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her head up, and he gave her another kiss on the lips, lingering but chaste. He _could_ want more, if ever he allowed it of himself, but he knew Tauriel did not, so he kept any potential desire locked carefully away. If he did not feel it, she would not sense it from him, and would not be disturbed. Never would he ask – or let himself want – what she would not give.

"We are each as mad as the other," he said, kissing her again, very lightly. "I do not yet know who to trust, to aid us in this. For I am uncertain we can fully trust Galadriel."

"Why do you have such distaste for her?" Tauriel asked, tucking her head under his chin.

"She is as close to omniscient as any being on this shore can be," he said, resting his cheek on her hair. "And that is quite apart from her Mirror. All minds are laid bare to her without touch, and she can see that which is far away without a Palantír. She is more powerful than any one Elf should be – but at least that serve us well. I do not think she would destabilize the Woodland Realm by driving me mad. Madder."

"She would not have one of the Three if she were not benevolent," Tauriel said. "If she can at all aid us, I am willing to trust her."

Thranduil didn't get a chance to respond, for, without so much as knocking, a wild-eyed Legolas burst into the room.

The child always did have terrible timing.

* * *

Good Thranduil. Recognizing you have a problem is the first step to recovery, however long and arduous the rest of the process might be.

Dreamcatcher: They'll wind up more physical eventually, but it's not going to happen overnight.


	10. Confession

In which Legolas receives a well-deserved beating and an equally well-deserved scolding, and Tauriel realizes a few things she had not, until now, been able to articulate to herself.

* * *

For what seemed an eternity, no one said anything – all three sat or stood as though frozen. Finally, Tauriel disentangled herself from Thranduil's grasp, rose to her feet, stalked to Legolas, and punched him as hard as she could.

He rocked backward, rubbing his cheek, and she noted that he already had a lovely purple bruise on his jaw. Someone must have beaten her to it – literally.

"You _thoughtless_ – " she punched him again, harder this time, " _selfish_ little _moron_ –" a jab to his ribs. "Do you have _any idea_ what I went through because you just swanned off into the wilderness and _left me_?" Finally, for good measure, she kneed him in the groin.

There. _That_ was out of the way.

"Was that really necessary, Tauriel?" Thranduil asked, wincing as Legolas doubled over.

" _Yes_ ," she snapped, crossing the floor back to him. "Chain, Thranduil. He left me to _that_."

Guilt flashed across Thranduil's face, but she couldn't feel bad about it yet. The chain really _had_ traumatized her. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around him in silent comfort, her hold more than a little possessive.

Legolas, gasping, finally managed to stand somewhat upright, his face white with pain. "Tauriel, I am sorry," he managed.

"You _should_ be," she snarled. "Especially as you and apparently everyone else but me knew that your father was touched in the head."

"I _am_ right here," Thranduil complained, returning her embrace, for once not too tightly.

She looked up at him. "It is not as though you can _deny_ it."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas blink, no doubt trying to sort through a mingle of confusion, worry, and pain. "Adar, let Tauriel go."

"No," Thranduil said flatly, still looking down at her. "She does not want me to. Nor will she let go of me."

"Tauriel – Tauriel?" The worry in his voice had shifted to dread. "Tauriel, you must leave. You must come with me."

"I _must_ do nothing," she said, drawing closer to Thranduil and resting her head on his chest. The scent of him, which had once terrified her, was comforting now. It wasn't just that it was familiar, though that didn't hurt at all; for whatever reason, she associated it far more with stale Thranduil than mad Thranduil.

"Someone must send for Galadriel," Thranduil sighed into her hair. "You would be best, Legolas. She is most likely to listen to you."

Since followed that, and Tauriel didn't dare look at Legolas. No doubt she would see on his face the expression she had grown so weary of, magnified tenfold.

"Adar, what have you done to Tauriel?" he asked, at last, fear and rage vying for control of his voice. "How have you _made her like this_? What did you _do_?"

Thranduil sighed. "Far too much," he said. "More than I think she will ever forgive me for – that she _should_ ever forgive me for. Which is why we need Galadriel."

"We cannot repair ourselves," Tauriel said, her voice slightly muffled by Thranduil's tunic. "We are both too broken."

"When you are _repaired_ ," Legolas said, low and deadly, "you will release Tauriel to me, Adar."

"No," Thranduil said, just as dangerous. "I will not."

"I would not go," Tauriel added. "We have already had this discussion, Legolas, before you arrived. We would both go truly mad, were we separated now."

Legolas was quiet a moment. "Adar… _why_?" he asked, helplessly.

Thranduil's answer was chilling, though not at all surprising. "Because I could," he said flatly. "Because you were gone, and finally, _finally_ I could. I was truly, completely mad where Tauriel was concerned, and there were none to stop me. Except, in the end, Tauriel herself."

Mercifully, he did not mention _how_ she had done so; Legolas didn't need to know she'd tried to drown herself on top of everything else. The mere thought made her shiver, and Thranduil, as ever so closely attuned to her, tightened his embrace.

"Get Galadriel," he said. "She is the only one who has a hope of sorting this out."

Tauriel turned her head. Legolas's expression remained horrified, and terribly guilty, but mention of Galadriel seemed to mollify him a bit. He cast Tauriel and anguished glance that infuriated her, for nothing, _nothing_ he felt now could equal what she had gone through, when Thranduil was someone else. Never would he have endured anything like that, but she was not quite cruel enough to wish a similar fate on him.

Not quite. Though the chain was nearly enough to make her. She had not yet forgiven Thranduil, but she hadn't forgiven Legolas, either – that might actually take _longer_ than forgiving Thranduil. He had been her captor, yes, but he'd also been as much a victim of his own madness as her, in a different way. Legolas, by contrast, had been happily tripping around the wilderness, clearly not sparing a thought for either of them.

 _That is not fair_ , she thought, _and you know it_. For all she knew, Legolas might have been facing his own trials. She had little place to judge him without knowing what he had been doing while he was away – but she _did_ judge him for so thoughtlessly abandoning her in the first place, and that she did have a right to do. He had known about his father's obsession all along, and had never seen fit to tell her.

"Why did you not warn me, Legolas?" she asked, even as she leaned into Thranduil's embrace. "Why did you never once tell me of your father's…fixation?"

He looked absolutely wretched. "I did not think you needed to know."

Fury flooded Tauriel's veins, molten as lava, her vision actually misting red. She struggled free of Thranduil's embrace, he evidently wise enough to let her go, and stalked across the floor to Legolas. This time she didn't punch him, she slapped him – hard.

"How _dare_ you," she snarled, and slapped him again. "What right in the _world_ did _you_ have to decide what I am or am not meant to know?" She wrenched back her sleeve, exposing the vicious, ugly scars, now faded to white. "Thranduil was a madman then, and you _knew_ it, and not only did you never see fit to tell me, _you left me with him!_ " Now, finally, she did punch him again, hard enough to spit his lip. "If he hadn't come to his senses, I would be _dead_ by now!"

Legolas wiped his mouth, blood smearing on his hand. "Then why do you stay with him?" he demanded.

"Because that madness has changed," she said. "It has not vanished, not truly, but he is _himself_ again, not the alien creature that imprisoned me. We are bound together now, in some strange way I do not understand, and I _know_ him now. Who he really is, beneath the madness… _that_ is who I stay for, who I would never leave. I see what he once was, long ago, and what he could be again."

Strange, how she had never before articulated that, but it was the truth. Thranduil could not possibly always have been thus – she had met an echo of who he might have been already, and she wanted more. Perhaps, with Lady Galadriel's aid, he could grow closer to being that Thranduil again – the real Thranduil, beneath the madness, the coldness that had gripped him for so very long. There had to have been a reason his poor destroyed Queen had loved him so much, and his love for her must have been much healthier than what he had for Tauriel. He could get better, because once upon a time he had been better.

Could she love him without forgiving all he had done? It shouldn't be possible, yet she had a suspicion it was some peculiar sort of love she felt, or was starting to feel. She should not, and she knew it, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted, un-swayed by the mind.

"I will fetch Lady Galadriel, if she will come," Legolas said, "but Tauriel, when this is over, you must go to her."

" _No_ ," Tauriel said, crossing the floor back to Thranduil. "As I said, I _must_ do nothing. "I will do what I want, and neither you nor anyone else will compel me otherwise." How was it that she could be so infuriated with him for leaving her with Thranduil, yet at the same time so adamant about staying? She really _did_ need help.

"We will see what she says," Legolas said before he left, his tone vaguely threatening.

She blew out a frustrated sight, resting her forehead against Thranduil's chest. " _That_ could have gone better," she said, wrapping her arms around him.

"It could also have gone a great deal worse," he said dryly, stroking her hair. "At least you did not beat him into unconsciousness."

Tauriel laughed, but there was a tinge of bitterness to it. "Believe me, it was tempting. When you were still completely mad, I devised all manner of creative tortures for him. On involved a red-hot poker."

She felt Thranduil wince. She left where the poker would go to his imagination. "Will you bathe with me, Tauriel?"

She leaned back to look up at him, trying to read his intent in his eyes. "That depends," she said. "Is that truly all you wish of me?"

"Yes," he said, brushing the hair back from her brow. "I know you do not desire me, Tauriel, and possibly never will. All these years my own desire for you has been for your fëa, your mind, not your body. That need never change. I crave your touch, yes, but not in that manner."

There was nothing but truth in his voice and his eyes. Perhaps one day he _would_ want more, but it was not this day. "Then yes," she said, "I will bathe with you."

* * *

All the while on his trek back to the Woodland Realm, Celebdor thought on the Ranger's words. Thought, and came up with nothing.

What else could Tauriel ever have? If she left the Woodland Realm, she would Fade – of that he was certain. And even if, by some miracle of the Valar, someone made her _want_ to, the King would follow. Of that Celebdor had no doubt, either. He would hunt her down no matter where she went, or how far – he would follow her to Harad or Forodwaith, to the very ends of Middle-Earth, such was his obsession. Unless one of them perished or sailed, she would never be free of him, so it was just as well that she obviously did not wish to be. The Prince would see that, as soon as he saw _them._

For his part, though unsettled, Celebdor did not see the problem. They were content enough, and Tauriel was hardly a mistress, not the kind of concubine Edain rulers might have. The King was not impugning her honor, nor his own. Yes, they were both very obviously obsessed with, and possessive of, each other. That could not be denied, but it was harming no one. He would not make any effort to intervene, and not only because doing so would be perilous to his own health.

* * *

Legolas was horrified, wracked with guilt, and in no small amount of pain. In addition to Celebdor's punch and Tauriel's outright beating, Lady Silwen cornered him and slapped him so hard his ears rang.

"I do not care if you _are_ a prince," she said, before his anger could rise. "You were as thoughtless as a child, leaving that poor girl in your father's grasp, and _now_ look what has come of it." Her blue eyes were positively molten in her living face.

"I am on my way to fetch Lady Galadriel," he said, rubbing his jaw. _Why_ was everyone hitting him in the same spot?

"I sent Celebdor to do that," she said shortly.

"And I sent him back here," Legolas sighed. "I did not realize how bad it was. Celebdor's explanation didn't do it justice."

"No," she said grimly, "it would not. Be wary of summoning Lady Galadriel, my Prince. I do not at all know how your father would react."

"He told me to fetch her, actually. I think perhaps some of his madness is lifting." Eru, he could still taste the salt of his own blood.

"I certainly hope so. And I hope you do not intend to separate them," she warned. "We might not like it, but somehow they have become two halves of one whole."

"They _cannot_ have," he protested. "My mother might be dead, but my father is still married."

Pity entered Lady Silwen's sparking eyes. "You are so young, Prince Legolas, and so sheltered," she sighed. "Your father would not have been incomplete in the first place if your mother was not lost to him forever."

Ice washed through Legolas's veins. "How can you know that?" he whispered.

"I have seen it happen before, long ago. I have passed through the Halls of Mandos once already, long before you or even your father were born. Within them is a ward where the most damaged of his subjects sleep eternal. The fëa cannot be destroyed, my Prince, but it _can_ be damaged beyond repair. Such must have happened to your mother, or your father would not have been drawn to Tauriel to begin with."

That…was not what Legolas needed hear, and certainly not on top of everything else. His mother had died so young that he had no memory of her, but he'd always comforted himself with the knowledge that he would one day meet her in Valinor. And all this time he had cursed his father's disloyalty in fixating on Tauriel at all.

"How old _are_ you, Lady Silwen?" he asked, scarcely aware of what left his own mouth.

"I have seen six thousand years on this shore," she said gently, "and two thousand more in Valinor. There is little to see in Middle-Earth that I have not seen at least once. Much though I dislike it, the King's fëa has fused with Tauriel's in some way I do not understand. Normally it takes a rather less chaste union to achieve such union."

Legolas shuddered. He did not, in addition to absolutely everything, need to picture that, but now the image would not leave his mind. "I did not need that thought," he said. "Lady Galadriel will surely know what to do." She _had_ to, for if she did not, no one would. And that was a thought that could not be borne.

* * *

Sorry, Legolas, but you _completely_ deserved that.

Guest: Tauriel was the first person Thranduil wanted to move on with. The reason for his wife's death is never given in canon, so I decided she was killed by the dragon that scorched his face up so much.

Aranel-DiSonne: Oh God, Nanny Ogg...I don't even want to _know_ what she'd do.


	11. Transgression

In which Tauriel's subconscious wish for vengeance becomes conscious, and Thranduil comes up with a somewhat unorthodox method for her to punish him. (And no, that is not as dirty as it sounds. Yet.)

* * *

Tauriel was uncertain if she greeted Lady Galadriel's visit with anticipation or dread.

She had heard tales of the Lady of the Golden Wood – from sources less biased than Thranduil – and was quite certain they could trust her. It was the thought of meeting someone so very powerful that daunted her – someone who might judge Tauriel for staying as harshly as everyone else did.

But then, Tauriel thought, stringing her bow in the sunshine, if she could truly see into people's minds, she alone would be able to understand – possibly better even than Thranduil and Tauriel herself. That was the hope, anyway.

They likely had around two months to wait for the Lady's arrival, assuming Legolas didn't have too difficult a time convincing her. He probably wouldn't, although Eru knew what nonsense he would fill her head with, with the best of intentions. Whatever came of this was likely to be vastly irritating at first.

* * *

As with most evenings, Tauriel and the King were seen wandering about the halls, arm in arm, heads bent together, seemingly perfectly content. Even after all these weeks it had never ceased to be bizarre, but it was no longer shocking.

" _How_ is that relationship not carnal?" Lady Ríniel asked, sounding almost as if she complained. "It would almost better if it was. At least it would be something simple and comprehensible."

Silwen almost agreed. Almost. Watching the pair of them, how incredibly tactile they were with one another – would have actually made _sense_ if they were going to bed in anything but the most literal sense, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were not. The King's caresses were near constant – Tauriel's hand, her face, her hair – but there was _worship_ in them, not lust. The obsession and possessiveness were by now no surprise at all, and markedly less unsettling than they had once been.

And Tauriel…what of Tauriel? Unsurprisingly, there was no reverence in her touch, but there was a very great deal of affection. She often touched his face, smiling up at him, for some reason most frequently skimming his left cheek – Oh.

 _Oh._

Silwen had to admit, she was stunned. Few still in Middle-Earth knew of Thranduil's scars, but he must have shown them to Tauriel. That…dear Eru. He would not have shown her that if he was not wholly convinced that he loved her.

Lady Galadriel was going to have her work cut out for her. But, for the first time, Silwen wondered if the King did in truth actually love Tauriel, in some strange way. Always had Silwen – and everyone else – thought him delusional, his supposed feelings the result of his madness and nothing more, but to have betrayed such vulnerability…no mere madness or strange infatuation would have induced him to do that.

Silwen did not know if this was worse or better than she had thought. Possibly worse, because Tauriel, though obviously very fond of him, had no answering love in her green eyes – and, after all the King had put her through, probably never would.

How long would the King be content with that? How long could he bear the thought that the elleth he loved so desperately held only fondness and affection for him in return?

Hopefully Lady Galadriel could sort _that_ one out. Otherwise, sooner or later, they were going to have a very large problem.

But for now, the pair seemed content with their odd paradox of chaste need. Silwen prayed it would last until Lady Galadriel arrived.

* * *

Galadriel was already well aware of the Woodland Realm's tribulations. And for once, she was not entirely sure what to do.

Love was not an affliction that could be cured, and in a twisted way, Thranduil did indeed love Tauriel. His feelings were unhealthy, but they were genuine. Tauriel…Tauriel was another matter entirely. Her feelings and her need for her were equally genuine, but they were not the same. She did not love him, and she did not want him as he could so easily want her, were he to allow it of himself. He never _would_ allow it, but that restraint would cost him.

It had been a very, very long time since Galadriel had seen one as broken as Thranduil, and never one so torn between love and need and obsession with another person. It was as though he were her uncle Fëanor, and Tauriel a living Silmaril. Her uncle and her cousins had created much death and misery in their attempts to recover the lost jewels – it was extremely fortunate no one had actually tried to remove Tauriel from Thranduil by force, for in his madness they might well have faced a fourth Kinslaying.

Galadriel knew what Legolas would ask of her, and it was not what she would – or could – do. What he would see as damage had already been done; all she could do was override their obsession, or try to, and leave the good of what they felt for one another behind. It would not be perfect, but sometimes things that were broken could not help but leave cracks when they were repaired.

* * *

Thranduil knew Tauriel was not yet ready to hear him tell her he loved her again, but when he felt the urge to say it, he would wait until they had gone to bed and trace the words up her spine with his fingers – in Quenya, so that he need not fear she would work it out. Using the language and alphabet of the Noldor was hardly ideal, but so long as she mourned, and so long as she had not forgiven him, he knew she did not want to think about it.

And though she did not know what he wrote, she did enjoy his touch – indeed, she practically purred like a cat. He had been so starved of any kind of touch since she and Legolas were children, because he was the King, and one did not touch the King. None but the Queen, who would never touch him again.

When she was like that, sprawled out contentedly alongside him, that dark thing in his mind wanted to break free. It wanted to keep her like this forever, all to himself, unwilling to share her with the outside world. It whispered that he could make her love him, if only he could isolate her long enough. He had named that shadow Eöl, and bound it away in chains at the back of his mind, where it could do nothing save whisper. No, he did not have Tauriel's love, but he had her fondness and her affection, her companionship and laughter and the light that was slowly returning to her eyes once more.

That light exposed the shadow for the twisted thing it was, but Galadriel was likely the only one who would be able to actually banish it.

"You are very quiet tonight," Tauriel said, twining a lock of his flaxen hair around her fingers. "What are you thinking?"

"I long for Galadriel's visit," he said, "and yet I dread it. If she cannot fix this, there are none left in Middle-Earth who can."

"She will," Tauriel said, her breath fanning warm over his chest. "I will not believe otherwise."

"Then your faith must be enough for both of us, for now. I fear my own mind, Tauriel."

"You are not the only one," she sighed, her fingers trailing along his collarbone. "The dreams I have had…I do not know how my mind produces them, but I wish they would stop."

"Do you have nightmares about your captivity?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Her thrashing had woken him more than once.

"Sometimes," she said, drawing a vague pattern over his shoulder. "Of late…of late they have been of things I might do to you. Things with the chain."

Thranduil shut his eyes. The chain, that thrice-damned _chain_ – somehow, it was the worst for both of them. "I would deserve it," he said.

"No," she said. "No, you would not, but I cannot say more on it. You would think me evil."

He shifted so he could look her in the eye, facing her on the pillow. " _I_ would think _you_ evil?" he asked, incredulous.

"Thranduil, you fear what you could do to me physically," she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. "What I could do…I will not say. They _are_ evil thoughts, and why I need Lady Galadriel. I do not want you to ever know them, for I do not want to know them myself."

"I would never think you evil, Tauriel," he said, tracing the line of her jaw with one long finger, "but if you feel you cannot tell me, I will ask no more."

She shut her eyes. "Thank you, Thranduil."

* * *

 _As if Thranduil's words had summoned the shadows within her mind, Tauriel's dreams were troubled._

 _Normally she did not dream of inflicting actual physical harm upon him. Nearly always, the evil of her sleeping thoughts was the same as those which plagued her waking hours: she created myriad ways to use his feelings for her to destroy him. His love, however warped and twisted, was pure – she knew that now, and it would be so easy to crush him with it. Thranduil was so much more fragile than he knew, and a tiny, cruel thread within her mind wanted to smash him and all that he was._

 _This night, though – this night was one of the deviations. And all the worse for it._

 _In this dream it was night, moonlight pouring in through the open garden door. She'd chained Thranduil down onto the bed itself, his arms stretched taut, the manacles digging into his wrists as they had never done to her ankle. Smears of blood, so bright in the moonlight, traced down his forearms._

 _When she looked down at him, she saw stark terror in his pale eyes, his silvery hair spread out over the pillow like a silken corona. He was so beautiful like this, offering her his fear._

 _Tauriel traced her left hand down the smooth expanse of his chest, nails digging in hard enough that blood welled up in their wake. Thranduil's hiss of pain made her smile, dark and delighted._

 _"_ _Tauriel," he said, his voice unsteady. "Tauriel, I am sorry – I am sorry for_ everything _."_

 _She leaned down until she could whisper in his ear, inhaling the heady scent of him while she did. "Not half as sorry as you will be."_

 _And then came the letter-opener._

 _The real thing had been destroyed, but this one was as wickedly sharp as the implement she'd opened her arms with. She didn't cut Thranduil nearly so deeply, though, when she began drawing patterns across his chest with it. He had not let her die, want it though she had; she had no reason to let him._

 _"_ _Tauriel," he tried again, swallowing hard, but no word followed her name._

 _"_ What _, Thranduil?" she snarled, the tip of the blade pressing deeper into his skin."You are sorry? Yes, you've said. You imprison me for months and chain me like an animal – what us is your sorry to me now?"_

 _Wisely, he said nothing._

 _"_ _I should leave you like this," she said. "I ought to let you starve, but even I am not so cruel. When I am finished with you, I will grant you what you twice denied me."_

 _"_ _What?" he asked, and there was a sheen of tears in his eyes._

 _She leaned over him again, her hair brushing his face. "I'm going to kill you, Thranduil," she said flatly, "and I'm going to make it_ hurt _."_

 _The sight of his terror, the slight hitch of breath in his chest, filled her with dark, alien satisfaction. Her grip tightened on the letter-opener –_

Mercifully, it was then that she woke, before she could actually dream of carving out Thranduil's heart. Her own face was wet with tears, hot and bitter, salty where they touched her lips.

Why, _why_ must she dream such things? Why must she think them? She knew at least part of the answer, though she did not want to admit it.

Thranduil had never actually pain for his actions. He had made her life hell for six months, and even when he no longer actually locked her away, he spent another fortnight dictating her every move. Oh, he had paid a steep emotional price, but not nearly so steep as hers.

And that was why she wanted to find the chain. That shadow in her mind wanted him to suffer as she had suffered, to be so desperate that death seemed the only release.

The trouble, she thought, even as she tried to fight back her tears, was that that desire was not unwarranted. The fact that Thranduil knew he had wronged her, that he felt genuine guilt and sorrow for what he had done, did not change the fact that he had essentially got away with it.

Tauriel tried to rise without waking him, which of course didn't work. Even now, he was unnaturally attuned to her.

"Tauriel, what is it?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

She wanted to lie, to say she merely needed the toilet, but he would know – and she had promised not to lie to him. "Nightmare," she said, not quite able to keep her voice steady.

He released her at once, and sat up the light the bedside lamp. The concern on his face was nearly heartbreaking. "Was it about me?" he asked.

Tauriel looked away. "Yes," she said, "but not in the way you think." The shadows in the corners all too perfectly mirrored the shadows in her mind.

Thranduil touched her chin, guiding her gaze back to him. "What was it?"

"You would think me evil," she said again.

"I could never think you evil," he said, brushing his thumb down her cheekbone. "Tell me, Tauriel. Tell me what it was."

She shut her eyes, unable to meet his. "It dreamt I chained you to the bed," she said, "and carved into your chest with the letter-opener. You were terrified and in pain and _I liked it._ " It was all she could do not to sob. What was wrong with her?

Silence followed that, but after a moment, Thranduil gathered her close, his chin rested on top of her head. 'I know why you dreamt that," he said, his voice laden with guilt and sorrow, "and I think I know what you must do, so that you do not dream it again."

"What?" she asked, sniffling, pressing her face against the hot skin of his shoulder.

He stroked her hair. "You must do it in reality."

Tauriel froze, but when she tried to lean back to look at him, he wouldn't let her. " _What?_ " she asked, icy horror flooding her veins.

"The suffering I have felt since your release is all of my own design," he said gravely. "You have never made me pay."

"But Thranduil, even at your worst, you never did to me what I dream of doing to you," she protested. "You confined me, and terrified me, but you never _hurt_ me."

"No," he said, "but I drove you to hurt yourself."

Now he finally let her sit back, and she saw the sheen of tears, of crushing _guilt_ in his eyes. "Thranduil, I _can't_ ," she said. "When I am awake, I cannot bear the sight of your pain. To deliberately cause you more…I am not that cruel. I could never be that cruel."

"Then here is what we must do," he said, his thumb tracing the track of a tear she had not known had fallen. "Things will be quiet until the harvest. I will tell the Council I am taking leave, unless some dire emergency appears, and you will imprison me until your shadow has had its revenge."

Tauriel was appalled to find that her shadow, as he called it, _liked_ the idea. But there was far more to consider than sating it. "Thranduil, I will not risk your sanity," she said. "Or mine, for that matter. We are both so fragile."

"Galadriel will come," he said, "and you will never be free of your nightmares if you do not give vent to them."

Tauriel heaved a sigh. "I will not confine you as you did me," she said. "It is not what I dream of anyway. Nor will I physically harm you – I do not truly wish to. But what I _will_ do, for it is the only way you will truly understand, is chain you each night. Even if it is only for a few hours each evening, you will still have some idea of what I endured."

Thranduil froze, but in this she did not feel guilty. Out of everything else, all she had gone through, the chain was and remained the worst of it, and probably always would. And perhaps, if he felt it himself, her shadow's desire for vengeance would be sated. "Why would you not leave it on overnight?" he asked at last.

"Because you did not. I do not wish to torture you, Thranduil. I only wish that you understand, even a little, what I felt."

He shut his eyes, resting his forehead against his. Do whatever you must, Tauriel," he said. "Whatever it takes. You are right – I have no real understanding of what you endured in my madness. Tomorrow I will retrieve the chain, and you can do with it, and me, as you see fit."

* * *

Is it just me, or could this actually be kind of cathartic? Thranduil, for all he knows that what he did was totally, utterly _wrong_ , still really doesn't get it. He _can't_ , having never endured anything like it himself. While this might only be a taste of what Tauriel endured, it's more than he's had so far.


	12. Reimpression

Believe it or not, there's actually (finally) a little humor in this chapter. Poor Thranduil.

* * *

Thranduil fetched the chain himself, very early the next morning – having a servant bring it would only start rumors. He had to admit, he felt no small amount of trepidation, but he deserved it and he knew it. He would do much worse to take away Tauriel's nightmares; he truly had been fully prepared to let her carve up his chest.

For he had more than enough nightmares of his own. The most common of them was actually the worst – in it, he had not reached the room in time after her first attempt to take her own life, and found her dead in a crimson pool of her own blood. Somehow within the dream he would wake to find her standing beside the bed, corpse-pale, her dead eyes boring into his, torn arms reaching for him and dripping blood on the counterpane. She reached for his throat, and the worst, the absolute _worst_ part was that he wanted to let her – wanted to give her in death the vengeance she had not been granted in life.

Perhaps this would expiate his own nightmares, too. She would exact her payment in a way that would not leave her feeling guilty, as inflicting physical pain would, no matter how much he deserved it.

When he brought the thing to their rooms, Tauriel had already gone for the day, and Thranduil was very nearly physically ill when he affixed one end to the bedpost, sick with guilt. At the time, he had seen absolutely nothing wrong with it – it truly had been for her protection in his mind, and nothing more. How could he have been so mad?

He didn't know, but there was nothing to be done about it now, save give Tauriel the tools for her revenge.

It preyed on his mind all day, while he went over paperwork and heard petitions (including from the increasingly amusing Lord Falchon). What would Tauriel make of even seeing the thing again? He had not thought of that, and he doubted she had, either. Hopefully she would not reach home before he did, and be forced to confront it on her own.

He hurried back that evening, as much as a necessarily stately dignitary _could_ safely hurry. Out of long habit, all in his way scattered to the edges of paths and parapets, drawing robes and skirts aside while he swept past, his worry mounting with every step.

Fortunately, that worry was unfounded. The room was dark and hearth cold when he arrived. He lit the lamps and built up the fire, tucking the chain under the bed, so that she would not see it right away.

Shedding his outer robe, he called for Galion to send for dinner, and sat on the divan, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Tauriel deserved her revenge, but what if it ultimately did her more harm than good? What if even seeing the chain brought her own horrible memories back in sharp relief? Would it be worth it?

Well, they wouldn't know until they tried. He'd promised her she could do it; he could hardly go back on his word now. So he poured himself a very large glass of wine and stoked the fire, the scent of alcohol and wood smoke oddly calming.

Dinner arrived at the same time as Tauriel – roast beef and fresh salad, plucked from the gardens that morning. Tauriel looked at it with undisguised greed, even as she kicked off her boots.

When she looked at him, however, her expression went very strange: somehow, it managed to encompass trepidation, sorrow, and a worrying triumph. She knew she should not want to do this, but want it some part of her did. Pale though she was, her face was flushed across her cheeks and nose, her eyes alight with something that almost made him nervous.

 _That_ , however, didn't last; it was replaced largely by her typical affection. The smile she gave him was like all of those she granted, warm and fond as she set her boots by the door and shed her cloak onto the nearest chair.

"I am starving," she said, sitting across from him, "and where is that chain?"

Well, that was straight and to the point. It must have been preying on her mind as much as it had been on his, if obviously in a different way.

Thranduil rose to fetch it with no small amount of unease. She seemed a bit too eager, but he could hardly fault her for it. He had forgotten until this morning how heavy it actually was, the links clinking as it dragged across the floor.

"You must understand, Thranduil, that I do not do this to torture you," she said, her eyes like feverish green stars. "But if we are ever to have any hope of moving pas this, you _do_ need to understand what I felt. Right ankle." He'd always chained her right, though he could not now remember why.

He managed to hold still when she fastened the manacle around his ankle, carefully adjusting it as he had done each morning, making certain it was not too tight. The thing was padded, and would cause no harm; it was merely heavy. Very heavy, and not just physically.

Once that was accomplished, Tauriel returned to being, well, _Tauriel_ , loading up her plate and pouring some wine. She seemed for all the world to be unaware of the chain's existence – exactly as he had been.

"I think Huoriel has finally come around," she said, dishing meat onto his plate. "Or in any event, I think she's resigned herself. She no longer looks at me as though I am utterly mad when I speak of you, and where she goes, others will follow."

Thranduil sat, trying to ignore the clink of the chain when he moved, but even when he was still, the weight of it was always there. And _that_ , no matter what he did, he could not ignore. "If only the nobles would follow suit," he said, downing half a glass of wine at one go. "Still I receive judgment, pity, or some odd combination of both."

"The judgment is almost more welcome than the pity," she said, pouring him more wine. "At least with judgment they don't also look at you like you are utterly stupid. I still have people who talk to me as though I am a child, and a slow one at that. I've been rather tempted to repeat what I did to Legolas, more than once."

"Why have you not?" Thranduil asked, trying to focus on her words, and not the weight around his ankle. How much worse had it been for her, who had also been constantly afraid of what he would do if she misspoke? They'd spent _months_ like this, and all the while he had been utterly ignorant to her silent suffering. It was a wonder she hadn't tried to kill herself again long before her second attempt.

"I doubt it would help," she said, before taking a bite of salad. "It would only make me look like more of a lunatic. And neither of us needs _that_ right now."

"No," he said, fighting the urge to itch his ankle, "we do not. Not when Galadriel is still weeks away. I only hope Legolas does not fill her head with too much nonsense."

"Eru knows he will try," Tauriel said dryly. "When you've finished with that, come over here so I can comb your hair."

* * *

Tauriel thought she could spot the exact moment of Thranduil's true comprehension – he was not longer as inscrutable as he might wish, at least to her. Terrible understanding entered his eyes, along with a truly strange succession of horror, grief, and guilt.

It made her want to take the damn chain off immediately, but the lesson might not stick if she did. He did not fear her as she had him, but even if she'd been able to frighten him like that, she wouldn't do it. He was a smart ellon; he would work that out for himself.

The hair-combing was another thing he had done, but she did not do it now to unsettle him – she just liked playing with his hair. How he got it so soft, she still didn't know; it slid through her fingers like strands of silk, its normal silvery hue stained red-gold in the firelight. The comb slipped through it like water, and her fingers followed in its wake, smoothing what did not actually need to be smoothed.

Thranduil relaxed under her ministrations, rather like a cat – quite often when she stroked his hair, she half expected him to start purring. Unfortunately, she knew, it would make taking later notice of the chain all the worse. There had been times she had almost managed to forget it, if she sat in a certain way, and the inevitable reminder had always made her shudder, drowning in horror all over again.

 _This is for his own good._ And it really was, as well as hers; if she knew he had a better grasp of part of what she had endured, her dark wish for vengeance might vanish. Perhaps that was one less thing for Lady Galadriel to deal with.

Tauriel set the comb aside and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. Maybe he would take a bit of comfort from this.

"Tauriel," he said, his voice careful and oddly strained, "I do not think the lesson you wish to impart with this chain is going to work if you keep touching me."

"What?" she asked, bewildered, even as she sat up. "Why?"

"If you would please give me a moment," he said, sounding even more strained.

She stood, outright worried now – oh.

 _Oh_.

Well, this was embarrassing. The tent in Thranduil's trousers was impossible to miss, and she turned away, face flaming. "I'll, um…I'll go fetch more wine. From the cellar." She didn't quite know why _she_ was so mortified, but she was. She really, really was.

"Thank you," he said, and she all but fled.

* * *

Thranduil had lived for a very long time, but this might just be the most embarrassing thing he had ever endured. Never once had he allowed any of Tauriel's touches to elicit any desire in him, but evidently, so long as she was touching while he wore it, he _liked_ the damn chain. And that was a realization he really could have done without.

Until then, though, her lesson had been horrifyingly effective. Even when he sat perfectly still, and the chain made no noise at all, he was always aware of it, clamped securely around his ankle. It wasn't painful in the least, but it was still awful. Though Tauriel spoke and interacted with him as she had always done, he felt like an animal, a _thing_ – something kept as a possession, without regard to any thought or will of his own.

And he had kept her like this for _months_.

He was tempted to hang himself with the damn thing – indeed, he wondered why she hadn't, during those times he left her alone for the day. She must be stronger even than he had thought.

That realization was enough to take care of his _problem_ for him. He'd known for months that he'd wronged her, but until now he had not really understood the depth of what he'd put her through. He still didn't; a single evening with the chain was nowhere near enough.

He should have released her ages ago, but he couldn't now – she was mired in this obsession as deeply as he was. For better or worse, they were in this for life. And Eldar lived forever.

 _Hurry, Galadriel_ , he thought. _Before we destroy one another._

After another fifteen minutes or so, Tauriel appeared, bearing a very large jug of wine. "Are you…decent?" she called.

"Yes," Thranduil said, shutting his eyes in utter mortification.

She crept the rest of the way into the room, setting the jug on the table and pouring two very large glasses. "Thranduil," she said, taking hers with her to one armchair, "have you ever… _that_ …when I've touched you before?"

"No," he said, staring into the burgundy depths of his glass. "Terrible as this sounds, I think it was the addition of the chain."

"The addition – _what_?" she asked, voice laden with bewilderment.

He forced himself to look up at her, distressed by the heat in his face. "Some people are like that," he said. "Not until now did I realize that _I_ was one of them, but apparently I am."

Thranduil expected Tauriel to be revolted, horrified – he did _not_ expect her to start giggling. "You learn something new every day," she said, before dissolving into helpless laughter.

Now he was annoyed as well as embarrassed, but if it made her laugh, he would endure it. At least he was quite certain she would keep it to herself.

She sobered soon enough, however. "Have you learned anything else while wearing it?"

"Yes," he sighed. "I should hang myself for what I have done to you. I thought I knew, but I had no idea. You ought to have killed me in my sleep. Eru knows it would have been execution, not murder."

Now it was Tauriel who looked away, staring into the dancing fire. "I thought about it," she admitted. "More than once."

He should not be surprised, yet he was. "What stopped you?"

She shut her eyes. "I knew there was no way you would die before you woke," she said, "and then you would have killed me."

Thranduil ran a despairing hand over his face. "I would never have killed you, Tauriel," he said, "though you would not like what I would have done. I would have bound your hands each night, and not released them until I left in the morning."

He didn't need to look at her to sense her shudder. "Look at us," she sighed. "What a pair we make. We really are as mad as everyone says."

Her mouth twitched into a half-smile before he could respond. "At least we know now that if I wish to punish you, binding is not the way to go about it."

Thranduil laughed, though he also shut his eyes in humiliated resignation. "I will never live that down, will it?"

"No," she giggled, "no, you will not. I had heard that there are people who like that sort of thing, but to my knowledge, I have never _met_ anyone before."

Was it possible for someone to actually die of mortification? Thranduil was very much afraid he was going to find out. The worst part, the absolute, completely _worst_ part, was that something far back in his brain would not at all mind if Tauriel wanted to bind him and torment him like that, so long as she didn't actually _stop_. And _that_ he could never let her know. It was a thought to be kept in the privacy of his evening bath. _Quietly._

* * *

Poor Thranduil. He's so often written as masterful and dominant (and he is quite a bit in this fic, too, really) that I loved the idea of shaking that up and having him get turned on by _not_ being in control for once. And Tauriel will tease him for it until the end of time. At least he's started learning an actual serious lesson, too


	13. Perpession

In which Galadriel arrives, and help is at hand.

* * *

Tauriel spent the rest of that evening and much of the next morning trying not to giggle. She had to school her expression into something less amused before she left, because she could hardly tell anyone _why_ she was laughing.

Naturally, she'd at first been completely shocked, but the humor in the situation had caught up to her fairly swiftly. It was so very unexpected, and quite ridiculous, and that it should happen to _Thranduil_ of all people…apparently he _did_ have a weakness unrelated to his madness. She wondered if he would tell Galadriel about it, or if she would have to do it for him. And yet….

And yet.

She'd never seen Thranduil aroused in any fashion – she believed him when he said all his other touches had been chaste. The sight…did something to her. It was not precisely answering desire, for she had not wish for him to do anything to her, but some part of her was curious about what _she_ could do to _him._ Even at the height of his madness, Thranduil was always so self-controlled…what would it take, to make him break that control?

Perhaps binding him was not such a terrible idea of a punishment after all. Tauriel had no experience at all in such matters, but she'd heard ellyn were easy to torment in that way.

That would, however, open a massive jar of bees she was uncertain she could deal with. She felt safe lying in his arms each night because she knew he did not want her in that way. Should he _start_ wanting her, but subsume it for her sake…it would change things. Perhaps in way she would be unable to handle.

No, that thought was best left not acted upon. What they had with one another was strange and nameless and achingly fragile, sustained by its purity. Tauriel was unwilling to risk it simply for the sake of her own curiosity. Perhaps Lady Galadriel could shed some light on it, whenever she arrived. Eru knew there was so much else to ask her.

* * *

If anyone noticed Thranduil moved through the day with excessive dignity, they were wise enough not to comment. He did not snap at anyone, which was all they really cared about.

He was still utterly mortified, though he was beginning to see the humor in the situation. Never had he seen Tauriel so flustered and awkward – it almost made the embarrassment worth it. At least he knew she would never, ever tell anyone.

Even as he sorted through reports, he wondered if, someday, she might be willing to do that again, only more so. He could not at all say he would mind if she decided to chain him to his bed and take her ire out in whatever way she saw fit. As long as it didn't involve knives, anyway.

Unfortunately, it chiseled a crack in the door of his mind that kept all potential desire locked way. He could not allow the door to open, because Tauriel would sense it. She felt safe now with him because he did _not_ want her; what would she do, if he did? She wouldn't run – she was now no more capable of that than he was – but it would change things.

But the door was cracking, and there did not seem to be anything he could do about it. What lay behind it was not lust, exactly; was not the base, carnal craving of the Edain, or even the desire he had felt for his wife. This was…strangely pure. He wanted not to take, but to give – Tauriel was almost certainly completely inexperienced in such matters, and the things he could give her…he wanted to hear her moans, to drink her sighs, to watch her eyes drift shut and feel her back arch. _That_ was what he wanted, what he could all too easily crave. What he was terribly afraid he _would_ crave, all too soon.

Thranduil could not tell her that – not yet, and possibly not ever. Whatever they had with one another was too new, and he knew that neither of them were precisely sane. Perhaps later, once Galadriel had done all she could for them – _then_ he would speak of it to Tauriel, and hope he would not revolt her.

* * *

The next weeks settled into a routine, in which neither spoke of that embarrassing evening. The hot days of summer passed, and Tauriel spent every single one of them outside, soaking up the sunshine. Even yet she had nightmares of being locked away from it, though she never told Thranduil of them. She had no idea when they would go away, or if they ever would.

Slowly, the odd looks and pitying stares eased away, as people grew accustomed to seeing her and Thranduil together. The fact that weeks went by with neither of them winding up imprisoned, dead, or mutilated no doubt helped.

The nights, though – Tauriel was grateful that nothing about Thranduil's regard for her had changed, and yet part of her could not help but wonder. She couldn't remove certain mental images of him surrendering to her utterly out of her head. She'd spent months so afraid of how easily he could dominate her, yet all it took was her touch and a chain for her to dominate _him_.

Perhaps, once they'd both spoken to Galadriel, she would one day bring it up again. She didn't think there was anything _vicious_ in her desire – she didn't want to hurt or harm Thranduil, or torment him in any way he would not thoroughly enjoy. She had no doubt at all that he would let her, if she asked, but she needed to see Galadriel first – alone. She needed to be certain.

For now, she was content to run through drills, still rebuilding the strength she had lost during her captivity. The hot sun beat down on her shoulders, the breeze ruffled through her hair, and she was as close to happy as she actually could be. Still she mourned Kili, which was the other thing that held her back from any physical pursuits with Thranduil. While it did not _feel_ like betrayal, it probably was, and she was just too mad to see it.

She was dismayed to find that she was dismayed by the sight of Legolas crossing the training yard. He was her friend – she ought to be glad to see him, but instead she still wanted to punish him a little. At least now she had the willpower not to _act_ on that want.

"Legolas," she said, but could not quite bring herself to add, _it is good to see you._

"I have brought Lady Galadriel," he said. "Are you…well, Tauriel?"

"Yes, I am," she said. "About ready to meet with you on the sparring mats again, I think."

"I do not know what my father would say about that," he said, a trace of bitterness in his tone.

"He can _say_ whatever he likes," Tauriel retorted. "He has accepted that I will train again, whether he likes it or not. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. Adar has sent for dinner for the three of us and Lady Galadriel, though apparently I am not to linger long," he said, with a faint scowl.

Tauriel felt rather bad for being so relieved by that. "All will be well, Legolas."

"So long as you are with my father, no, it will not," he said, his scowl deepening.

Her eyes narrowed. "If you are going to be like _that_ , you can walk by yourself. This has only just started to be accepted by everyone, and I will not have you spoiling it."

He opened his mouth, and she actually waved her finger at him. " _No_ ," she said. "If all you have to say are unpleasant things, I would rather you say nothing."

She stalked off, mod thoroughly spoiled. Drawing a deep breath, she reminded herself that Lady Galadriel was here now – soon they would find out what, if anything, could be done about…everything.

Changing her clothes would probably be a good idea, so she stopped by the guard room to swap her sweaty tunic for a clean one, brushing the worst of the knots from her hair. She couldn't go before the Lady of Lothlórien looking like, well… _her_.

Fortunately, she didn't run into Legolas on her way, and so had mostly eased her own temper away by the time she'd made it home. She kicked off her boots in the doorway out of habit, kissed Thranduil on the cheek, and flopped onto the divan.

"Your son is home," she grumbled. "You will be pleased to know I did not kick him, though almost as soon as he spoke, I wanted to."

"I had warned him not to speak to you."

That was not Thranduil's voice. Tauriel sat up so suddenly that she almost fell off the divan, and found that the desk had been cleared away from the study, a table set up in its place. And at it, garbed in radiant white, sat Lady Galadriel.

Tauriel instantly felt like the basest, coarsest creature in the universe. The Lady actually seemed to exude her own light, a pale, luminescent radiance like the moon, her hair a river of gold shot with silver. Tauriel stared at her, tongue-tied, and Thranduil laughed.

"I think you have startled her," he said, taking Tauriel by the hand and helping her to her feet. "Lady Galadriel, this is Tauriel. Tauriel, meet the Lady of Lothlórien."

"I apologize, my lady," she said, bowing. "You did indeed startle me. I had not thought to find you here yet."

"I thought it best to see you both," the Lady said, "and then speak with you separately. Legolas, I think, might or might not be joining us now."

"I do not think he will," Thranduil said, leading Tauriel to the table. "No doubt he will want you to view us alone, and come to your own conclusions as to how mad and broken we are."

"You cannot exactly say he is _wrong_ ," Tauriel said, sitting. "It is just – not in the way he thinks."

Dinner arrived before she could say more – roast venison and baked vegetables, and a welcome carafe of chilled wine. She drank _that_ sparingly, not wanting to make an even bigger fool of herself.

"Legolas told me many things," Lady Galadriel said, "but I would hear from the pair of you. What is it that you both want?"

Tauriel looked at Thranduil, who looked at her. "For my part, I wish to be – whole, I suppose, or as close as I can be. I know that I am…broken."

"And did Thranduil break you?"

She looked at Galadriel, at the Lady's calm, blue, _blue_ eyes. "No," she said. "He made it worse, but he was not the cause. I suffered grievous loss after the Battle of Five Armies, though I do not suppose Legolas would fully understand it. Thranduil magnified it immensely, but he was not its cause." She didn't miss his flinch out of the corner of her eye, but it was the truth, and she would not spare him.

"And you, Thranduil?" Galadriel asked.

He sighed. "I would be free of this madness," he said. "It has plagued me for so long that I have forgotten what it is like, to be without it. I want to do for Tauriel as I should have done, were I not mad."

Lady Galadriel was quiet a moment, looking from one to the other. "You paint for me a very different picture than Legolas," she said, "but I am not surprised by that. I will do what I can for you, but I cannot wholly heal either of you. There are some things only time can mend."

"I would be grateful for anything, my lady," Tauriel said. "Anything at all."

* * *

Thranduil and Tauriel were more or less as Galadriel had expected to find them, after her last look in her Mirror. Their want was pure, even if their execution was lacking.

She spoke with Tauriel first, while Thranduil prowled the garden outside the closed door. The girl, unusually small for one of the Eldar, sat perched on the edge of her seat in an armchair, fiddling with the hem of her tunic.

"I have not forgive him, my lady," she said, "and in truth, I am uncertain I _want_ to. I wish to move forward, but I can never forget what he put me through. There was – well, it's been rendered a bit ridiculous now, by, um, later happenings, but he chained me to his bedpost while he was away, for I do not know how long. I had nightmares about it, until…well, _recently_." Her face flamed nearly as red as her hair, and Galadriel's eyebrows rose.

"Yes?" she prompted gently.

"I had Thranduil wear the chain himself for an evening, so that he might better understand what I felt," she said, and looked away. "The problem is that he, um, _liked_ it. In a way neither he nor I expected."

It took every ounce of self-control Galadriel had to keep from bursting out laughing. "I would not have expected that of him, either. I take it that lesson was a failure?"

"Well, yes and no," Tauriel said, squirming a little. "He was horrified by the chain at first – I think he did begin to have some understanding, but then I made him sit so that I could comb his hair, as he had always done to me. _That_ was when he had his…problem."

Galadriel laughed before she could help herself. "I would imagine he was mortified."

"We _both_ were," Tauriel groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I went to the cellar for some wine, to give him some, er, privacy. But the thing…Lady Galadriel, the thing is that I want to chain him down and make him do that again, but I do not know why. I have never thought of him that way, and in a sense, I still do not. Am I…wrong, for wanting that?"

This poor, confused child. "There is nothing wrong with what you want, Tauriel," Galadriel said. "You must speak to Thranduil about it, however, so that it does not prey on your mind. But what will you think, if he wants you as well?"

Tauriel chewed on her lower lip. "I do not know," she said. "What we have…I like. It is simple, if not comprehensible even to us. My only comfort all those months was that he did _not_ want me in that way. And there were times I would have been aware of it, if he had," she added ruefully. "But now…oh, now I am unsure of anything, save that I do not want to leave."

"When you feel safe for him to let himself want you, _then_ speak to him about the chain," Galadriel said.

Tauriel tilted her head to one side. " _Let_ himself?"

"He could want you, very easily, if he would allow it of himself," Galadriel explained. "If he knows that would cause you distress, he would simply not allow it. I do not need to speak to him in private to know that he loves you, in his own incredibly damaged way, and it is because he loves you that he will not let himself want. Not unless you tell him he can."

By her expression, the poor girl had never thought of that. "Oh," she said.

"'Oh' indeed. You need not rush into any decisions, Tauriel. It is not as though either of you are going anywhere." Mortifying though the situation with the chain had no doubt been, it was good that the girl have something to associate with the thing that wasn't awful. It meant it was slightly healthier for her _to_ stay. Slightly.

"True," she said, and Galadriel could almost _see_ the thoughts churning in her head. "I feel – I feel guilty, though, because I know Thranduil loves me, but I don't love him. Not in that way, anyway."

"Of course you do not," Galadriel said gently, "nor will you, so long as you grieve. Thranduil knows this. He would not want you to try to feel anything that does not come naturally, and he would never ask anything of you."

"But how can I love him if I can't forgive him? Because I do not think I could _ever_ forgive him."

"Nor should you. That, Tauriel, is what you and I must work with. I suspect it is related to what I must work on with Thranduil, for he will never forgive himself."

"I hope he won't, either," Tauriel muttered. "I know that sounds terrible, but…I can't help it."

Galadriel reached out and took her hand. "Tauriel, all of this has taken place in less than a year," she said. "Give yourselves a decade to work things out. Your people are beginning to accept it, if not understand it. I will speak to Legolas – much of his anger stems from guilt."

"I hit him, when he first came home," Tauriel said. "A lot. And kneed him in the groin."

Galadriel didn't wince, but she also didn't have much pity for Legolas. He really had been appallingly thoughtless. "You had every right to. For now, child, let things be as they are. We will help you untangle exactly what it is that you feel."

* * *

Thranduil did not want to admit he was nervous, but nervous he was. What was Tauriel telling Galadriel? What would Galadriel tell _her_?

He paced the garden, restless, while the moon rose. The leaves filtered its light into something silver-green, rustling on the faint breeze. They had been speaking for nearly an hour now, and while that was likely a good thing, still he was unsettled.

When Tauriel came into the garden, however, she seemed thoughtful, but calm, and kissed his cheek before sending him inside.

This went against centuries of self-training. Thranduil had not truly confided in anyone since the loss of his wife, and his every instinct urged him not to do so now. He _had_ to, however, and so he forced himself to sit facing Galadriel – who looked worryingly amused.

"Tauriel tells me you have an unexpected fondness for chains," she said.

He was absolutely horrified to feel his face heat. Of _course_ she would tell Galadriel that. "I will thank you to keep that to yourself," he said stiffly. "And I do not know if 'fondness' is the word I would use. I can only thank Eru she was not entirely revolted."

"If you would actually speak to her of it, I think you would find her merely curious," Galadriel said. "What she clearly does not realize is that you have her at an enormous disadvantage. You have stalked her for so much of her life that there is little about her that you do not know, whether she would want you to or not. If you at all wish to level the field, you must be prepared to answer whatever questions she has, so long as answering them would not bring harm upon another."

That…was an appalling thought. Thranduil was, after all, far older than Tauriel, and had more nightmares in his memory and history than she could imagine. Certainly more than he would ever _want_ her to.

"For some of them, she would hate me," he said quietly.

Galadriel actually arched one golden eyebrow. " _Thranduil_ ," she said flatly, "if Tauriel were going to hate you, she would have already done it by now. I will be blunt: nothing you could tell her would be worse than what you have _done_ to her. You have been a complete fool, and I marvel at her affection for you, but affection she has, and it is genuine. Legolas was quite convinced it had been coerced somehow, but I see it has not."

"I am glad _someone_ does," he sighed. "I marvel at it myself, and I am eternally grateful for it, but it is only within the last weeks that any have begun looking at us as anything other than a disaster waiting to happen."

"You can hardly _blame_ them," Galadriel said dryly. "I believe I can help you both, Thranduil, but not immediately. As I advised Tauriel, for now you simply must continue on as you are. I will watch, and advise as necessary. We can only got from there."

* * *

That night, wrapped up in Thranduil's arms, Tauriel's heart felt lighter than it had since before the battle. Perhaps the pair of them were not doomed to destroy one another after all.

* * *

Yes, Tauriel, there is hope. You two are never going to be healthy, but at least you might be a bit less sick.

Guest: I read your comment and just about died. I can just see Katje giving Tauriel lessons in how to be a dominatrix. I'm tempted to write a cracky AU one-shot.


	14. Intercession

In which Thranduil allows Tauriel a lot of trust, and a little room to play. Here be porn, guys. Sort of.

* * *

The arrival of Lady Galadriel created quite a stir among the residents of the Woodland Realm, many of whom assumed she had come to take stringent action against the King and Tauriel. They were thus very surprised to find it was apparently otherwise.

Still the pair went for their evening walks – sometimes alone, sometimes with Galadriel – and very little appeared to change. She did not seem to have come to break them apart, which was something of a relief, because nobody wanted to see what either would do if someone tried.

"She must not think it anything _too_ terrible," Ríniel said to Silwen on one of their morning walks. "Surely if she were concerned, things would have changed."

"Perhaps," Silwen said. She did not know Galadriel well, but she did know that the Lady never rushed into anything. She would want to watch them – possibly for years, if she could be spared from Lothlórien for so long.

Silwen had to grudgingly admit that her husband might be right. The King and Tauriel had settled into a routine before Galadriel arrived, stable and apparently not much different from that of any other couple. There had been no crises, no fights – just a remarkable domesticity.

If only their relationship was not founded on madness and captivity. Sooner or later, Silwen was certain, that would take its toll. It _had_ to.

And even now, that possessiveness lingered in the king's eyes, mirrored to an unnerving degree by Tauriel's. If Galadriel meant to cure them of _that_ , she would need all the luck and skill in the world.

Summer passed into autumn, and for the first time in centuries, the King came out to observe the harvest. It perhaps wasn't so much of a surprise; the Guard had often helped when needed, and Tauriel had been among them. She did so now as well, though the workers supposed it would be beneath the King's dignity to join her. He watched her fondly, and if that strange obsession lingered in his eyes, most were used to it by now. At the end of the day he would wipe the smudges of dirt from her face, and kiss her brow, and lead her off to dinner, as though they were any normal pair.

When the first snow came, many went outside to enjoy it – the King and Tauriel among them, well bundled against the cold. Lady Galadriel followed, watching both with her unfathomable blue eyes. She seemed to find nothing odd in their seeming need for constant physical contact – most of the denizens of the Woodland Realm didn't, but they'd been around it much longer.

The snow frosted Tauriel's red hair, catching in her eyelashes, and the King kissed the flakes of white away with a smile, heedless of the fact that others could see. _That_ did unsettled them; Elven couples were very intimate, but usually not in public. Holding hands was usually as far as Eldar couples went, but the King seemed quite content to kiss Tauriel everywhere but her lips in front of Eru and everybody. The only thing that kept it from being unbearably awkward was that even now, there was chastity to it. Uncomfortably intimate as they sometimes were, it was never in a way that ought to be confined to a bedroom. It was perhaps understandable that Tauriel would not yet wish to consummate whatever odd union she had with the King, but he never looked at her with that manner or desire, not even when she wasn't looking at him. They really were a strange, _strange_ pair.

* * *

The first time Thranduil gave Tauriel a truly premeditated kiss, they were out in his private garden one frigid dawn, watching the rising sun paint the snow rose and gold. Though it was chaste, it lingered longer than the others, and he stroked the line of her jaw with his thumb before drawing back to look at her. Her cheeks were faintly pink, and not only from cold.

"Thranduil," she said, with unusual hesitance, "would you—" She trailed off, her face growing even pinker.

"Would I what?" he asked, tracing the line of her jaw again.

She drew a deep breath. "Would you let me chain you to your bed and do…things… to you? I am not ready for anything for _myself_ , but I am…curious."

Thranduil was somewhat appalled to find his face heat – surely he was matching her blush. "Curious?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Quite frankly, part of him _loved_ the idea, even as it also embarrassed him.

Tauriel ducked her head. "Curious," she affirmed. "I want – I want to see what I can make you feel."

It actually made sense for more reasons than she was possibly aware of. She would quite literally have him at her mercy, and could control what he did or did not feel. It would give her absolute power over him. He was a bit disturbed by how pleasant the thought was. "If you feel you are ready for such a thing, Tauriel, I would be pleased to put myself at your mercy."

The light in her eyes bordered on unholy. Belatedly, he wondered if he should be nervous.

* * *

Tauriel really had no idea just what she thought she was doing, but she'd gone too far to stop now. The idea had been preying on her mind for months, and she had decided that it was finally time to act on it.

Nevertheless, she felt somewhat awkward when she sought something that could be used for bonds. Acquiring actual chains without alerting anyone would be rather difficult, but Thranduil had an assortment of scarves that she knotted into something like rope, testing the strength of the knots. At least she was already more than familiar with Thranduil minus all his clothing, even if not at all in this sense.

What would this change? Many things, probably, and it was likely terribly ill-advised, but at this point she simply couldn't help it. Her curiosity demanded to be sated.

"All right, Thranduil," she said, trying so hard to fight her blush, and utterly losing. "I've had…ideas for this."

"For how long?" he asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

"Long enough," she said, tying one scarf-rope to the left bedpost. "Take off everything but your trousers, for now," she ordered, trying to sound as commanding as she could.

"For now?" he asked, shedding his silvery outer-robe.

"I will decide if you get to lose _them_ or not," she said, with as much imperiousness as she could muster. She moved around the bed, tying another scarf to the right post. In truth, she was unsure how far she wanted to take this, though really, if she were going to go to all this trouble, she might as well take it all the way. She still couldn't quite believe she was doing this, honestly. Her face certainly felt as though it were about to catch on fire.

She assembled a few things while Thranduil shed his layers of clothing – a lark's feather she'd found in the garden some weeks ago, a silk scarf not used in her bindings, and a very cold glass of wine – more for her benefit than his.

When she turned back to the bed, she found Thranduil already upon it, looking at her with some amusement – doubtless enjoying how flustered she was, for all this had been her idea.

Tauriel scowled when she crawled up beside him, taking his left wrist in her hand and wrapping the end of her impromptu bindings, taking his left wrist in her hand and wrapping the end of her impromptu binding around it, careful not to tie it tight enough to cut off his circulation. The bed was so wide that with his other arm bound, he would have little – if any – slack, which shifted her scowl to a smile.

When she'd tied both his arms, she paused to survey him, feeling nearly drunk with power. Even Thranduil's very obvious amusement couldn't quell it. He wouldn't be silently laughing for very long. There was something ridiculously beautiful about him, bound out before her, his silvery hair spread out around his head like a corona on the pillow.

She hopped off the bed to fetch the feather, giving him a good look at it while she climbed up beside him again. Delicately, oh-so-delicately, she ran it down his throat, tracing his collarbones.

The reaction she got surprised her. His eyes fell shut, lips parting, and he drew in a contented sigh. Tauriel hadn't expected him to be so very responsive. She drew the feather along his jawline and he tilted his head back to give her better access.

"I think it is safe to say you are enjoying this," she said, fascinated simply by watching him.

"You have _no_ idea," he groaned.

Well. She could draw this out into torture, if she was creative enough.

The feather traced down the smooth, pale expanse of his chest and up along his left arm, running over each of his fingers in turn. Back down it came, very slowly, outlining each of his muscles, and then gave the same treatment to his right.

A glance downward showed her that he was indeed enjoying this, very much. She'd give him his ending – but she'd make him beg for it first.

"Stay still, Thranduil," she ordered, hopping off the bed again. She hadn't intended to use the scarf as a blindfold, but that would be its purpose now – this would be all the better if Thranduil didn't know what was coming. She carried both scarf and cup back to the bed, setting the latter on the bedside table.

"Raise your head," Tauriel said, folding the scarf in half. He obeyed, again with a look of amusement, and she laid it over his eyes, wrapping it around his head three times.

"Now stay very still." In truth, she was somewhat nervous about doing this, but his reaction would doubtless be worth it. Dipping two fingers into the wine, she drew a chilly line from his stomach all the way up to his throat, and followed it with her tongue. The Dorwinion was sweet, his skin salty, and she immediately wanted to do it again. She could _devour_ him this way.

His groan was so deep it almost frightened her – it sounded as though he were in pain, but he arched into her touch, not away from it. " _Tauriel_ ," he gasped, straining at his bonds, and she hoped her knots would hold.

"Yes?" she asked, dipping her fingers into the wine again. The next line went up his neck, and his pulse fluttered beneath her lips. She could so easily kill him like this – all she would have to do would be to sink her teeth into his artery, and there would be nothing he could do but bleed.

She _did_ bite, but higher, and lightly, just below his jaw, and reveled at the sound of savage _need_ that caught in his throat. She half fancied that she could smell his desire, that the unnatural heat of him was growing even warmer under her touch.

On impulse, she sat astride him, pressing down on the bulge in his trousers. Thranduil groaned again, his hips bucking up against her, and _oh_ , that felt good.

"I said hold _still_ ," she ordered. "All in good time. If you make me spill this wine, I will be very cross with you." Another line, this one up to his left nipple, which she took into her mouth. He jerked beneath her, but didn't arch – good King. As a reward, she ground her hips down against his, a sinuous movement that made him shudder.

"You are going to kill me," he said, and he didn't sound at all displeased by it.

"Of course I will not," Tauriel said, mock offended. "I can hardly do this to you again if you are dead. Well, I _could_ ," she added thoughtfully, "but you wouldn't be anything like as responsive."

He laughed, but it cut off in a sharp gasp when she bent her head to his other nipple, this time adding a light scrape of teeth. She could hear the pounding of his heart, and it made her smile against his skin.

"Are you mine, Thranduil?" she asked, running her nails down his chest.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Are you _sure_?" She nipped lightly at his collarbone.

" _Yes_ ," he groaned. "Yes, Tauriel, I am yours."

"Good. Don't you forget it." She scooted back, running her hand along the waistband of his trousers. He was tense beneath her – with desire, with the effort of holding still, or both.

She unlaced his trousers, painfully slowly, and only took the hard length of him in her hand, when the last lace was undone. In this she had little idea of what she was doing, but Thranduil didn't seem to care in the slightest, if the noises that left his throat were any indication. Her fingers explored, stroking and teasing, finding out exactly what made him shiver.

He made a sound that was perilously close to a whine when she stopped. "Tauriel," he gasped, his head thrown back against the pillows.

"Tauriel, _what_?" she said. The feel of having him so totally at her mercy almost made her delirious, headier than the finest wine.

"Tauriel, _please_."

The sound of that word, the hoarseness of his voice as he spoke it, made _her_ shiver. She stroked him again, but very lightly, creeping up the length of his body. With her free hand she remove the blindfold, and found his pupils blown wide with desire."You know, I've never truly kissed anyone," she said. "Show me what all the fuss is about, and I'll grant you release."

Now the need in his eyes was almost savage. "Come here," he said, and she'd swear his voice had dropped an octave. "I'll show you." The heat in his tone almost made her second-guess herself, but Tauriel was an elleth of her word. She smoothed the hair back from his brow, cupping the side of his face, and lightly brushed her lips over his.

For someone in such a submissive position, he was certainly dominant when it came to kissing. He nipped lightly at her lower lip, and when she gasped in surprise, he licked his way into her mouth, claiming it with almost bruising force. He kissed her as though he wanted to devour her whole, guiding her through her inexperience., teaching as he drank her in like a dying man granted water.

Tauriel moaned before she could help it, heat surging through her. Her fingers stroked almost of her own accord, and she swallowed his groans until he arched beneath her, nearly biting her lip as hot wetness washed over her fingers.

His head fell back, and his entire body went absolutely boneless. When he opened his eyes, they were both sated and wicked. "There are other places I could kiss you," he said. "I know you are not ready for more, Tauriel, but you deserve a reward."

Her face flamed, and yet the idea was not at all unappealing. Thought of that talented tongue in _other places_ , as he put it, was not to be passed up.

"Impress me," she said, wiping her hand on his trousers before rising to untie him.

"I will do my best," Thranduil said. His pale eyes were actually somewhat unfocused, and when he sat, it was without his usual grace. He kicked off his soiled trousers, leaving them crumpled on the floor. "Take your clothes off, Tauriel, and let me…impress you."

She was actually a little nervous when she unlaced her tunic – which was ridiculous, since this was hardly the first time he'd seen her with no clothes on. The gleam in his eyes wasn't helping in the slightest.

He drew her to lie crosswise on the bed, so that he could kneel beside it. "Relax, Tauriel," he said, hooking her legs over his shoulders. "You will enjoy this."

And then his mouth was on her, and all trepidation – and coherent thought – fled. He laved her with his tongue, and Tauriel cried out when he reached the little bundle of nerves she'd had such fun with on her own solo explorations over the centuries. Those had never felt like this – he suckled hard, gripping her hips when she writhed, and then his tongue was curling inside her, hot and strong, leaving not an inch unexplored. He was merciless, licking his way back to that aching spot, each flick of his tongue drawing another cry from her. Heat shivered through her, her nerves sparking, pleasure rising and coiling, but each time she thought she'd found the edge, Thranduil eased back.

Tauriel moaned in frustration, trying to squirm out of his grasp, to grab his hands and force him to _get on with it_ , but he was far stronger than her, and kept her pinned in place while his tongue tortured her into gasping, incoherent _need._

Finally, just when she thought she could take no more, one little suckle and flick of his tongue sent ecstasy like nothing she had ever known surging through her, singing along her every nerve. She'd swear a galaxy exploded behind her eyelids, and even as her cries gave way to whimpers he kept on, drawing her back to the peak almost as soon as shed come down off of it.

She cried out again, harsh and ragged in her throat, this second climax even more intense than the first, almost to the point of pain. She was breathless by the time he was through, loose-limbed and sated in a way she'd never brought herself to be.

Thranduil kissed his way up her body, and lightly pressed his lips to her brow. "I know you unready for true coupling," he said, wrapping his right arm around her and drawing her close, "and perhaps you never will be, but you can tie me down and torment me whenever you see fit, and I will find other ways to give you pleasure."

Strangely…that idea worked for her. Tauriel still did not think she could ever fully give herself to him – not yet, at least, not unless Lady Galadriel managed to work miracles. But this…whatever this was, it felt strangely right. Doubtless others would think it, but they were _not_ others. And they were both more than a little twisted themselves.

"I think I can live with that," she said, almost shyly, with a small smile.

Thranduil laughed, and drew her up the bed and under the covers. Somehow, in spite of all they'd just done, his embrace was as it had always been before, affectionate but not sensual. Perhaps she needn't fear things would change much in the rest of their lives after all.

* * *

Thranduil might be more than happy to let Tauriel tie him up and do all kinds of kinky things to him, but he ain't no pushover. At least they've exchanged quite a large mutual level of trust now.


	15. Addression

In which Galadriel brings a few home truths to Thranduil, who is not at all prepared for them.

* * *

Tauriel woke the next morning wrapped up in Thranduil's arms, as usual, and was relieved to find she didn't feel at all awkward, even though they'd gone to sleep naked. Aside from that, it was much like every other morning.

She tried to get up, but his arms tightened around her, and he mumbled incoherently. His hair was a complete mess, tangled all around him, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"I need the bathroom, Thranduil," she said. "Let me up."

"But it is cold, and you are warm," he complained.

"If you would build up the fire, it would not be cold." She slithered out of his arms, shivering, and wrapped her heavy green robe around herself. His she threw at the bed, where it landed on his head.

"Thank you," he grumbled, words muffled by the fabric.

"You're welcome. Now do something about that fire."

The bathroom was every bit as cold, the stone floor glacial beneath her bare feet. That was the trouble with living in a cave; it was lovely and cool in the summer, but downright frigid in the winter. There was a reason the customary garb of the Wood-Elves included so many layers.

When she went back into the room, she found a fire crackling, but she still tugged on her leggings before briefly shedding the robe so that she could pull on her tunic. Back came the robe, and then she sat on the divan, curled up in a ball, shivering.

"Here I thought my old room grew cold," she said, rubbing her arms.

"It is difficult to heat one so large," Thranduil said, sitting beside her and pulling her onto his lap. "I have thought for years of putting in a second fireplace, but I have never actually done it."

"We should," she said, tucking her head under his chin. "Winter is too long for this to be endured." Mercifully, there remained nothing awkward about this, nothing strained or strange; even more mercifully, there was no change in Thranduil's customary touches. He'd desired her very much last night, but he did not this morning, and that was a massive relief. She liked what they had, and did not wish it to change save on occasions when they both wanted it to.

"I will have it seen to," he said, stroking her arm. "Meanwhile, hot breakfast and cider ought to help."

Tauriel leaned back to look up at him. "Normal cider, or the sort you hide in your desk?"

He arched an eyebrow, and kissed her brow. "You truly are nosey, aren't you?"

"It is not as though I had anything better to do, for six months," she pointed out. "If it is in these rooms, it is no secret to me."

"That…is somewhat appalling," he said, and looked as though he meant it. He ought to, too; while she had found nothing _terrible_ , some of it would be extremely embarrassing. His volumes of erotic poetry, for one thing, as well as his collection of implements used to groom his eyebrows.

"You have only yourself to blame," she said, trying to card her fingers through the silky fall of his hair. She hit a snarl almost immediately. "I wish I had an artist's hand, to paint you as you are at the moment," she said, with a small grin. His hair really did look like a small animal had tried to make a nest in it, and she had left a purple mark where his neck and shoulder met. Thank Eru all his collars were high, or he would have had some rather awkward explaining to do.

"Undignified, am I?" he asked, tucking a strand of her own tangled hair behind her ear.

"Very much so. And yet strangely adorable."

He looked genuinely offended. "I am not _adorable_ ," he said, with no small amount of asperity.

Tauriel's grin widened. "You have not seen yourself in a mirror," she said. "You are, in fact, adorable. And all the more so when you're grumpy."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't contradict her – likely because he knew he'd just be playing right into her hands. "I will send Galion for breakfast," he said instead.

"Brush your hair first. Otherwise he might think you are adorable, too."

He gave her an unimpressed look, but that possessiveness, the obsession, had risen in his eyes again, a pale gleam. She found that she no longer minded it much, however; yes, it was a little unsettling, but it was familiar, and having all the formidable force of his attention trained on her…it sent a shiver through her, and not an unpleasant one. Perhaps it was wrong of her to enjoy it, but she didn't care. Still he looked like he had been carved of marble, but there was a warmth to him, albeit an unstable one. He looked at her as though she were the sum of his entire world.

Admittedly, that was also a little worrying – as she'd told him months ago, she could not be the whole of his salvation – but it was also…strangely enchanting. Thranduil's love for her still wasn't entirely healthy, and probably never would be, but never in all her life had anyone cared about her so very much.

Kili could have, had he been given the chance – and he would have been much healthier about it, too. But the harsh truth was that she would have been broken by his death anyway, just delayed by three or four centuries. Never before had Tauriel realized that the immortality of the Eldar could be as much a curse as a blessing.

"What are you thinking?" Thranduil asked, tracing her brow with his right index finger.

"Bittersweet things," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. The fabric of his robe was warm and soft beneath her cheek. "I can put no words around them yet."

"Do not feel that you must, if you do not wish to." He stroked her hair, fingers tangling in the knots. "We both need a comb."

"And possibly some of your special cider," she said. "This room really is ridiculously cold. It must be beyond freezing outside." At least she couldn't actually see her breath in the air, as she had one morning a week ago. A second fireplace was definitely a must.

* * *

Winter, Galadriel discovered, seemed to be one long series of parties for the people of the Woodland Realm, with the occasional official feast thrown in. It was often so cold outside that even an Elf would find it unpleasant, and indeed she was uncomfortably reminded several times of the long, deadly trek across the Helcaraxë. Even the Guard ran on skeleton crews, for in the dead of winter there was little to patrol against.

That cold didn't seem to dampen the Wood-Elves' spirits, however. Every time she passed the dining hall, she found at least one large group of them seated around a brazier, eating and drinking. Their hearts seemed markedly lighter than they had upon her arrival, no doubt aided by the seeming health of their monarch and his spiritual consort.

That health, however, was partly an illusion. She was beginning to doubt she could ever truly strip the obsession from Thranduil's mind – it had worked its way into the very bedrock of his being. What he felt for Tauriel would never be truly healthy, but it was real, at least, and pure – though she had her doubts now about the chastity of their union. She would have known if they had actually consummated it, but Thranduil, in the last month, was far more relaxed than she had ever known him. She suspected there had been more experimentation with the chain, of the sort they both actually enjoyed.

No, it was not healthy, but it might be nearly as good as it was going to get. It helped that Tauriel was healing, though Galadriel knew, without needing to ask, that they had not full addressed her captivity. Thranduil had come to understand some of the horror of the chain, before discovering its unofficial recreational properties, but there was so much more that she knew Tauriel had never expressed to him, likely for fear of hurting him.

It needed expression, though, or it would start to fester over the centuries, and breed resentment. This would be pleasant for no one, but if Tauriel would not tell Thranduil, Galadriel would have to show him. Which meant she must first witness Tauriel's memories herself.

She had not warned either of them, for she would not give them time to balk. They knew only that they were to meet with her today, now that the second fireplace had been installed in their quarters.

The rooms, she discovered, were indeed lovely and warm, bright with lantern-light, smelling of sweet smoke and mulled wine. Small changes had crept in over the months – new books stood on the shelves, jammed haphazardly rather than neatly lined up like those that had already been there. A rack for Tauriel's bow and knives stood beside the one holding Thranduil's swords, the wood varnished black and shining in the firelight.

A second wardrobe, presumably Tauriel's old one, stood near the outer doors, somewhat battered and worn, and a simple braided rug, quite at odds with the richness of the rest of the furnishings, lay on the floor before the hearth. The room had long since ceased to be Tauriel's prison, but now it was beginning to actually be her _home_. Galadriel suspected that there weren't more signs of her presence only because she didn't have enough things to make them. She also had no doubt the second fireplace had been for Tauriel's benefit, though they had had to knock down the wall between bedroom and study to build it.

Tauriel and Thranduil themselves lay on the divan, the perfect picture of domesticity to anyone who didn't know better. Galadriel did take heart in the fact that Tauriel had kept to her simple, functional clothes, only allowing Thranduil to improve their quality, rather than letting him turn her into a doll. He was not trying, consciously or unconsciously, to change her. Her dark green tunic and even darker brown trousers were what anyone in the Guard might wear, but looked to be of fine cashmere rather than wool. Like Thranduil, she had taken to wearing her red hair unbraided – she had no need to, now, and it made it easier for him to run his fingers through it, which he seemed to do constantly, no matter where they were or who was watching.

He was doing so now, so gentle and so content that Galadriel hated having to break the spell, but spell it was – an illusion, though neither could see it as such.

Both sat up when they saw her, and the contentment faded from their expressions when they saw hers.

"Is something wrong, my lady?" Tauriel asked.

"There is something that needs addressing," Galadriel said carefully, sitting in an armchair. "There is no good time to do it, so we may as well do it now, and get it over with. Tauriel, you still have nightmares of your captivity." It was not a question.

The girl winced, and Thranduil gave her a startled look. Of _course_ she hadn't told him – doubtless she wished to pretend they did not exist.

"Tauriel?" he asked. "Do you?"

"Of course I do," she said peevishly, not looking at him. "I have nightmares about many things, as do you. It is not as though we have not both seen enough horrors." Her hands were fisted at her sides, knuckles white – yes, that was a sore spot, so very near the seemingly idyllic surface.

"Tauriel, Thranduil, I need to do a transfer of memory between you," Galadriel said, "lest this continue, and grow into a rift. I know you are content enough now, Tauriel, but your nightmares will not be easily laid to rest, and in time you will come to resent Thranduil's lack of understanding. He comprehends more now than he once did, but from his own perspective only. He needs to truly know what you felt."

Both of them paled. "My lady, if you do that, you will break him. I would not wish that on my worst enemy."

"Tauriel, I deserve it," he said quietly, looking down at her.

"Yes," she said, looking back up at him, "you do, but that does not mean I wish to do it to you. I do not think you could endure it and not come out broken – and I stopped wishing to break you months ago." Her tone was strangely gentle, for all her talk of destroying him. These two really did remain something of a paradox.

Thranduil ran his fingers through her hair, the action seemingly unconscious. "Tauriel, you know something of the horrors in my own past," he said. "The most recent in yours are my fault. I have some idea of them now, but it is merely that – an idea. I do not wish you to resent me in a hundred years' time, when you have had one too many nightmares that I cannot understand."

She looked away, staring into the crackling fire. "In truth, I do not wish you to know how weak I was."

" _Weak?_ " he said incredulously. "You endured months between your attempts to take your own life. You endured and you kept your sanity, which I think is more than most could do – perhaps more than _I_ could do. You are many things, Tauriel, but 'weak' is not one of them."

"You will not think that once you have seen my memories," she sighed. "Lady Galadriel, must we truly do this?"

"If you do not want to suffer terrible problems later, yes," Galadriel said. "You can only suppress this for so long, Tauriel, before it starts to consume you."

She sighed. "Very well, my lady. I trust you."

"Good. Now pull up the other chair, child – this will not hurt."

* * *

In truth, Thranduil did _not_ want to do this – not for his sake, but for Tauriel's. Her pride was likely the only thing that had kept her going during those terrible months – her pride, and her unwillingness to be beaten by anyone. Of course she would not wish him to know of her despair, which she surely must have felt.

Galadriel must know what she was doing, though, or she wouldn't ask this of either of them. While there was much about the Lady he disliked, she was never needlessly cruel.

So he watched, silent, while Tauriel sat across from her, and Galadriel took her hands. Tauriel's eyes shut on instinct, but to his relief, she did not look at all distressed – whatever was happening, it was not unpleasant to her. Her pale profile was strained, yes, but that, he thought, was mere nerves, her red hair disarrayed from the passage of his fingers.

The longer they say, however, the more Galadriel looked…neutral, and Thranduil did not wonder why. Doubtless she was judging him terribly, as she should. He knew that what he had done was monstrous, even if, as she said, he did not properly understand it. Part of him feared to, for if he did, he might never be able to look Tauriel in the eye again. He felt guilty enough as it was.

It only took perhaps a quarter of an hour, but by the time it was through, Galadriel's face was like a mask of pale stone, her blue eyes flat and unreadable. "Tauriel, you may leave now."

"No," Tauriel said, looking from her to Thranduil. "I would stay, if I may. I would…see."

She wanted to see how he would react – fair enough. He was quite certain she still sometimes had dark wishes to harm him; every so often he would catch a ghost of a shadow in her eyes, a darker green. Eru knew she had a right to it.

"Then if you would please exchange seats with Thranduil, we will proceed."

Her hands weren't quite steady when she did, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze when they passed each other.

The chair smelled like her, the woodsy-oak scent of her hair, and he sat as still as he could while Galadriel took his hands. Hers were cool, even for one of the Eldar, who tended to have lower body temperatures than other races – he was a notable exception, or had been, since his face was burned.

 _You will not like this_ , she sent him.

 _I did not think I would._ As Tauriel had told him, she had not tried to kill herself for no reason. After his first taste of what she had endured – the negative part of the chain, before he rendered it ridiculous – he had not wanted to think on what else she had suffered while he was too mad to notice.

 _At least Galadriel did not hit him with all of it right away. The first thing she showed him was simple, subtle, and yet completely terrible._

 _Always, since the very beginning, had he slept with Tauriel in his arms. He had thought it a comfort to them both, but oh, how very wrong he had been._

 _At first, she had been terrified, though thank Eru she had never feared he would try to violate her. Much of her fear had come front not knowing what he_ did _want of her – and from the knowledge that he could break her neck in a heartbeat if he chose. What he had thought to be a comfort was suffocating to her, his arms merely a different sort of chain, yet she dared not let on. In reality, she had no comfort of any sort – nothing but fear, and grief she could not express, that she dared not feel in his presence. Oh,_ Tauriel _…perhaps she did not hate him now, but she had loathed him then. She had lived and breathed nothing but fear, obeying his myriad commands and hating both him and herself. It was no wonder she had eventually snapped._

 _And then, when she ceased fearing him, when the worst of his madness broke and he was something like himself again, still she chafed over her imprisonment, even while grieving in a different way, a new pain added to her heart – when she saw more of who he was, who he could have been, and how easily she could have loved him, had he not been such a fool._

 _When Galadriel showed him her drowning, it was almost more than he could bear. The rage and grief and utter_ despair _she had felt, even as the icy water closed over her head, the way she welcomed her dark oblivion, welcomed the thought of going to Mandos – and her even worse despair when once again she woke and found she remained in Arda, in the world of the living._

 _She could have loved him, but he had destroyed that chance. Fond as she was of him –_ possessive _as she was of him – she did not love him, not in the way he loved her. He had known that already, yet to feel it – to not just know, but to_ feel _what she had endured – nearly broke his heart. There was no way in this or any other world that he could even begin to make it up to her. He ought to ask Galadriel to break her dependence on him, to free her from his hold on her, no matter what he had sworn to her, but he could not. He_ had _sworn it to her, and healthy or not, he would keep his word. He really was all she had, all she wanted, and even though that want was more toxic than either of them had realized, he could not take it away. For better or worse, their fëa were too intertwined._

What will you do for her, Thranduil, now that you understand? _Galadriel asked._

Whatever she asks of me. I cannot – I thought I understood, at least a little. I did not – I had no idea. None. None at all. _He knew that he had frightened her, but he hadn't known how much he had_ hurt _her. How much she grieved what could have been._

That was the right answer, _Galadriel said._

He came back to himself and looked at Tauriel, who was watching him with great concern. Immediately he went to her, pulling her into his arms, fingers tangling in the soft strands of her fiery hair.

"I'm sorry," he said against the crown of her head. "I'm so, so sorry. I really did have no idea."

She crawled onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him in turn. "I know you did not," she said. "You could not have. Not until you had felt it for yourself."

"I will leave you," Galadriel said, but her voice was kinder. "I believe you have much to talk about."

Perhaps they did, but Thranduil had no idea what to say, aside from an endless string of apologies. What else _could_ he say? Nothing he could offer Tauriel would erase all that he had done, the nightmare she had lived for half a year. There was no atoning for it, no reparation equal to his crime.

"Tauriel, what do you want of me?" he asked, the hoarseness of his voice surprising him. "What would you have me do?"

"For now, exactly what you are doing. Stay with me."

 _That_ he could easily do. He rested his cheek on her hair, stroking her back, wishing with all his heart that he could undo what he had done.

* * *

Yes, Thranduil, you actually get it now. Well done.


	16. After-impression

In which Tauriel decides Thranduil needs a metaphorical slap upside the head (and ties him up instead). This chapter is mainly porn – porn with a purpose, but porn nonetheless.

* * *

Sorry as Tauriel felt for Thranduil, she couldn't help a dark sense of vindication. He understood, as much as he was ever going to. She wouldn't have wished pain on him, but comprehension had to hurt. There was simply no way around it.

So she let him hold her, while he worked through whatever it was he needed to work through, watching the fire burn down to red embers. He would speak again when he was ready. Strangely, she suspected she felt as drained as he did, yet nothing had happened to her.

"Tauriel…I do not know what to say," Thranduil said at last, his cheek still rested on her hair. "All I can offer are apologies that change nothing. How can you bear to look at me, let alone remain near me?"

"In truth, I do not know," she said bluntly, even as she snuggled against him. "I know that I ought to hate you, yet I do not. Perhaps because you are not the same person who held me captive. _Him_ I hated, but he was…alien. Not like the king I knew before, or the Thranduil I know now." It wasn't that simple, but she couldn't put words around the whole of it. "I will tell you one thing, however – if you start pushing me away out of guilt, I will be very cross with you. If I can make peace with all of that, so can you."

He tensed, and Tauriel was certain that was exactly what he had intended to do. Were all ellon this ridiculous, or was it just him?

"Where does this leave us?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair, almost hesitantly.

"Where we have been already," she said. "I know that you are half-mad and half-broken, Thranduil. So am I. We can only move forward. You can start by combing out all the knots you've made in my hair."

His hand stilled. "I have no right to touch you."

She leaned back, and gave him as severe a look as she could muster. " _I_ decide that, not you," she said. "Not only do you have the right to touch me, you are _going to_ – you will fetch that comb and brush out my hair, and then you are going to rub my back, and you will like it. Or else."

His face was far too pale, and he swallowed. "Tauriel –" he started.

Her eyes narrowed. "Do I need to tie you down again, Thranduil? You are not going to withdraw from me. I will not allow it."

He flushed a little, but the sorrow did not leave his eyes. "I –"

" _Thranduil_ ," she warned. "If the next words out of your mouth are not 'yes, Tauriel', you are going to regret it. Go run a bath. We will deal with this before it becomes a phobia."

He sighed, defeated. "Yes, Tauriel."

" _Good_." She rose, and pondered, mulling over ideas while he went into the bathroom. She absolutely would not tolerate him feeling guilty every time he touched her – she was far too fond of his constant caresses to give them up. She was going to have to make it very clear that _she_ liked touching _him_. And with the aid of a silk scarf, she thought she knew how to do it.

That decided, Tauriel rummaged through his wardrobe until she found one – plain black, that he was unlikely to mind sacrificing to the cause. When she went into the bathroom, however, she found him still fully dressed, and deeply troubled. He looked more than ever like a marble statue, his profile tense as he stared into the filling tub.

"Off," she said. "All of it, now. I know you, Thranduil – you fear your ability to overpower me. Allow me to show you just how much agency I truly have."

He did not look particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but he must have been willing to try it, for he disrobed, looking more troubled than ever. She really shouldn't feel sorry for him, but she did. Very much. She shed her clothes as well, in a businesslike manner.

"Wrists behind your back," she ordered. "If you wish me to stop at any time, you have only to say so, but before we are through, I am determined to show you that _I_ like our touches."

"Tauriel, you are mad," he said, but he gave her his wrists anyway.

"This is not news," she said, careful that she not make her knots too tight. She had to help him into the tub, as his balance was compromised like this.

The hot water felt glorious, scented with rosewater, and as soon as Thranduil had leaned back, she ran her hands up his chest, her touch firm and sure. To her satisfaction, he shivered, his head falling back. The long, pale line of his throat was too tempting, and she moved forward to taste it, his skin both sweet and salty. She could smell him over the aroma of the water – the spicy, rich, _Thranduil_ scent of him, and she relished the hitch in his breath.

"I told you that you were mine, Thranduil," she said, her hands tracing over his shoulders. "I will not allow you to escape me."

He groaned when she closed her teeth over his pulse point, very delicately, not even enough to sting. Perhaps, she thought, as she did it again, trailing her fingers over his jaw, he liked to be tied because in this way, he was not actively taking from her – he felt only what she decided he would feel. Perhaps it made him feel less guilty.

They would have to work on that. Eventually.

She kissed her way up his neck, lapping up the droplets of sweat formed by the heat of the bath, creeping up his body to straddle his chest. When she reached his jaw, she sat up.

"Kiss me," she ordered. He was resistant to her touch, in mind if not in body, and she was going to break him of _that_ right now.

Kiss her he did, but gently, tentatively, giving her the barest taste of the wine they'd been drinking all afternoon. It was up to Tauriel to deepen it, and deepen it she did – he gasped when she gave his hair a good yank, and she put all he had taught her to good use, licking her way into his mouth with all the dominance she could summon.

As she'd suspected, that did it. She drank in his groan as he returned the kiss with real fervor. It seemed that their first go at this was not a fluke – Thranduil didn't know how to be a submissive kisser. He took control of it almost immediately, dragging her lower lip between his teeth, nipping and sucking and _devouring_ her mouth until she was breathless.

She couldn't help but moan, heat that had nothing to do with the water surging through her. The sound drew a growl from Thranduil's throat, and Tauriel tugged his hair again almost without knowing what she was doing.

She broke away only because she needed air, and then she fell upon his neck, biting at his collarbone. This was nothing like their first attempt – her own control was nowhere to be found.

He arched up against her, and she could feel him struggling against his bonds, but there was little in the world stronger than wet silk – he wasn't getting out of them easily.

A thought occurred to her, breaking through her thickening fog of lust. She sat up, panting, and took his chin in her hand.

"We're going to try something different," she said, looking into his desire-darkened eyes. She drew him forward, across the tub, until her back rested against the far side of it. "You are going to kiss me," she said, trailing her free hand over her throat and down to her chest, " _everywhere_ , and you won't stop until I say."

There was a hint of trepidation, very far back in his eyes, but it was rapidly subsumed by need – which was a damn good thing, because her own need was nearly unbearable.

Tauriel released his jaw, and tilted her head back in invitation. Thranduil evidently needed nothing more, for his mouth was on her at once, kissing the column of her throat with almost bruising force.

"No marks where anyone can see them," she gasped. She did _not_ want to make that explanation, and she doubted he did, either.

The force of his kisses abated, but only a little. She tangled her hands in the soft fall of his hair, but let his mouth travel as he wished, her eyes falling shut as he worshipped her body like an altar.

When he reached her left breast, she shivered as he nipped at the sensitive skin, soothing the sting with his tongue. He kissed his way to her nipple, already hard, and Tauriel choked on a cry when he took it into his mouth, laving with tongue and teeth. Pleasure shuddered through her, pleasure and _need_ , jagging along her nerves like errant lightning, coiling in her abdomen. She arched on instinct, her grip tightening in his hair, but just now Thranduil had mastery – even with his hands bound, he knew exactly what he was doing.

" _Thranduil_ –" she started, but whatever she was about to say fled when he switched his attention to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. She was whimpering, and she didn't remotely care, so long as he kept going. Her legs squeezed together as she threw her head back, desperate for friction.

He must have felt that, for he stilled. "This will be much easier if you untie me," he said, his lips brushing her skin. "You can always re-bind me later."

She ought to say no, to force him to continue as he was, but she simply couldn't do it. Not when she was half convinced she would combust if he didn't keep touching her. And the fact that _he_ wanted to, that it seemed he was no longer hesitant, had to be a good sign.

"Stay here," she said, breathless, and hauled herself out of the tub. Of course she dripped a trail of water all the way out into the bedroom when she went for her hunting-knife, and because the fire had burned down, she shivered until she was back in the warmth of the bathroom.

Thranduil made a strange, beautiful picture, standing chest-deep in the water, hands bound in submission but blatant, possessive hunger in his eyes. Wet strands of silvery hair clung to his shoulders and his chest, his skin pale and smooth as marble, but his face was flushed. The sight of him only made the heat in her belly intensify, and she was tempted, oh-so-tempted, to fully give herself to him.

But not now, not yet – not when they were both still so raw. Whenever that happened – and by now she was sure it would, eventually – they both needed to be calm.

She slipped back into the water, and carefully sawed through the wet silk. As soon as she had set the knife aside, Thranduil turned and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was deep, but languid, lacking the urgency of earlier. He tasted, of course, of wine, but primarily of _Thranduil_ , rich and nameless and frighteningly addictive. Tauriel wrapped her arms around his neck, winding her hands in his wet hair, and let him lead.

Eventually he must have sensed she needed air, for he broke away, kissing his way down her neck. His left hand slipped between her legs, stroking and teasing, and she cried out when he bit down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"Let us see how many more times I can make you do that," he said, his breath hot on her skin, his voice dropped to a register so deep it made her toes curl. Yes, there was most definitely something to be said for leaving his hands free.

Tauriel wanted to say something to that, something witty, but wit – and thought – fled when Thranduil eased one finger inside her, his mouth returning to her skin, peppering kisses across her chest. What left her throat was a strangled, undignified moan, and she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, nails digging into his skin.

She felt as much as heard him laugh, and he granted her another finger, slowly thrusting in and out, his thumb rubbing at that spot that made her head drop onto his shoulder, her breath quickening and shallow.

His fingers twisted inside her, and sent a bolt of wholly unexpected ecstasy shooting through her. She bit his shoulder to muffle her cry, keening as she shamelessly rode his hand. She'd thought what he did with his tongue incredible, but it had nothing on this. Her legs were trembling, her breath coming only in gasps, and still he pressed on, grabbing her chin with his free hand and guiding her mouth back to his.

A second climax hit her with all the force of a falling star, and Thranduil swallowed her cries, wringing every ounce of pleasure he could out of her, until she was spent and boneless, barely able to hold herself up.

He slipped his hand free, his arms wrapping around her waist, and kissed her again, but softly now, gentle and calming. _How_ could someone who took such pleasure in submission be so very dominant now? Tauriel had no idea, but she was beyond grateful for it.

"Your turn," she said, still shivering with the aftershocks of her climax. "As soon as I can move, that is."

Thranduil laughed. "Take your time, Tauriel. I could watch you like this for hours."

She looked up at him, smiling in a slightly blitzed way. "Do you believe me now, when I say I wish you to touch me?"

"I think you have made your point. I would not mind if you continued making it."

Tauriel kissed him. "I will."

* * *

Hey, it worked. And Thranduil might be a total sub, but that doesn't mean he can't take control when Tauriel wants him to.


	17. Decompression

In which Thranduil has some serious issues (like that's anything new), Tauriel does, too, and they try to figure out what they can do without Galadriel's help. In spite of everybody's best efforts and intentions, this isn't anywhere close to a healthy relationship. I know this is a short one, but I've been grappling with this story for months now.

* * *

That night, Tauriel slept well, but Thranduil lay long awake, troubled.

That he could bring her such pleasure made him feel beyond powerful, but it was that feeling that unsettled him. His regard for her had always been pure, spiritual rather than carnal. Some part of him had always known his obsession with Tauriel was wrong, but because his want for her was not physical, he'd always told himself that it was not _truly_ wrong. He was not some disgusting Edain king, with a base craving for flesh; he wanted no concubine, no mistress. Tauriel herself was too pure, someone to be worshipped, not debased.

This was hardly debasement, and yet he felt strangely guilty. Watching Tauriel, touching her, listening to her…he wanted to fully take her, to make her scream for him, and yet the thought also wracked him with shame. For centuries, he had told himself that Tauriel was not to be touched that way, not to be thought of in any way that was not chaste.

 _She_ certainly seemed to have no such concerns; she was snuggled up against him like always, her head rested on his shoulder. Even now there was something clean about her, something he feared he would taint in some way. He was old and broken and more than a little toxic; Tauriel was young and filled with light, and he felt as though he were sullying her in some way.

She'd probably hit him if she knew his thoughts. If she'd felt at all debased, she would have let him know in no uncertain terms – and probably kicked him while she was at it. Tauriel was no shrinking violet, no naïve girl fallen prey to his advances – she'd been the one to advance on him.

His fingers traced down her back, smoothing over her soft nightdress. She had no idea how illusory her control over him really was, that he obeyed purely because he wanted to. Both times she had tied him up, he could have broken her bonds easily, but he'd wished to give her control, wished to let her do as she would. He knew she could have no inkling just how easily he could overpower her if he chose.

Well, no, of course she did. She'd spent so many months sleeping in his arms because she had no choice; she was fully aware of his strength. But if that was truly the case, how could she stand to be near him now?

Was there any purity left in his regard, now that she wanted him – now that he had let himself want her? The fact that he even could crave her physically troubled him. Immensely.

He would have to ask Galadriel. She might well be the only person who could give him an answer.

He couldn't…he couldn't _defile_ Tauriel. She certainly didn't seem to think that was what he was doing, but how would she know? She who was so wholly inexperienced….

At least he hadn't actually taken her. He'd given to her, and what he'd taken from her had been at her command, so he wasn't certain it counted as taking. She had gifted it to him, and controlled everything. And yet he was afraid.

"I can hear you thinking," she said sleepily, mumbling into his shoulder. "If you are second-guessing last night, I'll kick you."

Thranduil laughed before he could help it. "You know me too well," he said, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "I cannot help it. You are pure, Tauriel, and what I want of you has always been pure. Now…things are changing."

"Things have been changing since you…woke up," she said, sitting up to look at him. "That is not a bad thing, Thranduil, but it sounds as though you are not yet ready for it. I don't want you to feel that you are not allowed to touch me, but that doesn't mean we have to do what we did last night." She looked away from him. "My own motives…weren't precisely pure. Aren't. At least, I don't _think_ they are."

He touched her chin, trying to guide her gaze back to him, but she refused to meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Tauriel frowned, clearly torn. "I want to own you, Thranduil," she admitted. "Mind, hröa, and fëa. Even I know that's not right. One person can't own another, yet…I do not know how to _not_ want you that way. I think I understand what it is you've felt all these centuries, though I think I might be even worse. There is nothing pure in it. I can't pretend to justify it, even to myself."

Such a pair they made, he thought sourly. "Tauriel, you _do_ own me," he said, tracing his finger along her jaw.

She turned away from him, her frown deepening. "You shouldn't say things like that," she said, bowing her head, hair obscuring her face. "You are a person, Thranduil, with a mind and will and heart of your own. I can't own that, and you shouldn't let yourself believe that I can. You shouldn't want me to. I won't make you – " She broke off, apparently unable to finish the sentence.

Unfortunately, she didn't need to. Thranduil had a terrible, heart-gnawing feeling that he knew what she'd meant to say. "You don't want me to feel like you did," he said, sitting up and resting his right hand on her shoulder. "You can say it, Tauriel. The fact that I fully believed that all I did was for your own good does not make it in any way better than what you feel now. You are simply more honest with yourself than I was capable of being."

There was, he knew, another large and very crucial difference: Tauriel did not love him. His love might be warped and twisted and unhealthy, but it was real – but Tauriel? She was fond of him, yes, very much so, but she didn't love him. Their shared madness had made her _need_ him, had left her as emotionally reliant on him as he was on her, but what she felt wasn't love, and probably never would be. Yes, the chain had been rendered ludicrous, but neither of them were ever going to forget that it had once not been – Tauriel especially.

Thranduil both blessed and cursed Galadriel, for showing him just what he had put Tauriel through. It was better that he know, that he understand, but at the same time, he was quite sure she would never love him, and he knew why.

 _Where does that leave us?_ he wondered. Could they truly go on like this for the rest of their eternal lives? It was one thing to be with someone because you loved them, but quite another to stay because you literally could not bear to live without them. Yes, it was working for now, but it had also only been a little over seven months since they came to any sort of understanding. It was still so new, and so fragile.

But the worst part – the part he hadn't even told Galadriel, and would never tell Tauriel – was that he'd do it again. Oh, he would be smarter about it – there would be no chain, no locking her away from the sun – but if he were offered the chance to revisit the aftermath of the battle, the opportunity to leave Tauriel free, he wouldn't take it. This might be strange and unhealthy, but he wouldn't have it at all if not for her imprisonment.

He was a monster. He'd known it all along, and he didn't think there was anything he could do about it at this late date. What he hated was the fact that Tauriel thought _she_ was the monster, when she had absolutely nothing on him.

"Tauriel," he said, "look at me."

She did, turning to face him and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

"You _have_ owned me, whether you like it or not, for centuries," he said. "My mind and my heart, sick though both may be. It brought you misery, and grief, and fear, for you did not ask for it, but the whole of me has been in your hands far longer than you were aware of. But I cannot touch you like that. Not again. It is…" He did not possess the words to describe just how wrong it felt, how foul _he_ felt.

He hadn't known how she'd react to any of that, and was relieved beyond measure when she touched his face. "Thranduil, I would never wish you to do anything you were not comfortable doing," she said. "I do not want you to fear to touch me, because I crave our contact, but as I said, that doesn't mean we have to do more than this."

"You will not come to resent it?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

Tauriel shook her head. "You silly fool, I would never have thought it an option if not for that chain," she said. "I am content with what we have."

Content. Always, she said 'content', never 'happy', and Thranduil wondered if she ever would be. Yes, for now she still grieved her Dwarf, but he feared that even once her grief was spent, happiness would elude her. He wondered if she would ever be aware of all the things he had broken within her mind.

"You look too troubled to sleep," she said, when he didn't respond. "We might as well take a walk in the moonlight."

"Tauriel, it is frigid outside," he pointed out.

"I know," she said. "It will give us both something else to think about, even if that something is our frozen fingers."

* * *

I tried to write them with a sexual relationship. I tried and tried, and it just didn't work. What they have is too odd and too damaged to have anything sexual actually be healthy, and I just couldn't make Thranduil get over his weird obsession/purity issue. (Which sounds ridiculous, since I'm the writer, but seriously, I just couldn't get him to do it.) It felt as wrong to me as it did to him.


End file.
